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which  it  was  withdrawn  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

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are  reasons  for  disciplinary  action  and  may 
result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS  LIBRARY  AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


BUILDING  lIJSEONLY 


Submitted  in  Pari 


L161  — 0-1096 

IN  ENGLISH 


IN 

THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


for  the 


1921 


CHAUCER  S PLOTS 


BY 


ADAH  ELIZABETH  MILLIGAN 
A.  B.  Monmouth  College,  1914 


THESIS 


Submitted  in  Partial  Fulfillment  of  the  Requirements  for  the 


Degree  of 

MASTER  OF  ARTS 


IN  ENGLISH 


IN 


THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


1921 


\S  i-\ 

NK  S ' 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL 

April  22 192-1. 

I HEREBY  RECOMMEND  THAT  THE  THESIS  PREPARED  UNDER  MY 

SUPERVISION  Ry  ADAH  ELIZABETH  MILLIGAN 

ENTITLED  CHAUCER'S  PLOTS 


BE  ACCEPTED  AS  FULFILLING  THIS  PART  OF  THE  REQUIREMENTS  FOR 


THE  DEGREE  OF  MASTER  OF  ARTS  Ift  ENGLISH 


Head  of  Department 


Recommendation  concurred  in* * 


Committee 

on 

Final  Examination* 


*Required  for  doctor’s  degree  but  not  for  master’s 


4 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/chaucersplotsOOmill 


Introduction 


Geoffrey  Chaucer,  one  of  the  greatest  story  tellers  in  English 
literature,  \ms  gradually  and  variously  prepared  for  his  literary 
work.  In  his  early  years,  England  under  the  leadership  of  Edward  III 
was  carrying  on  commercial  vvars  with  Prance  and  under  succeeding  kings 
continued  the  struggle  for  almost  a century.  The  English  people,  in 
spite  of  national  hatreds  enjoyed  the  courtly  literature  of  contem- 
porary irance.  But  as  the  foreign  war  continued,  they  "became  increas- 
ingly willing  to  lend  an  ear  to  stories  of  English  life.  And  Chaucer 
was  the  poet  Capaole  of  entertaining  them  with  tales  of  tnis  kind. 

His  study  of  human  nature  "began  in  his  childhood.  He  ms  a page  of 
the  daughter-in-law  of  Edward  III  and  while  associating  with  the  nobil- 
ity, he  acquired  a taste  for  depicting  courtly  life.  In  1359  he  was 
taken  prisoner  in  France  "but  was  ransomed  "by  the  King  ana  made  a valet 
of  the  royal  chambers.  Several  years  later,  having  been  sent  on  dip- 
lomatic missions  abroad,  Chaucer  visited  Italy.  There  he  -was  inspired 
by  Italian  literature.  But  he  did  not  settle  down  as  a "poetic  dream- 
er‘;,  IXvring  twelve  years,  for  example,  he  was  engaged  as  a comptroller 
of  customs  for  London,  coming  thus  in  close  touch  with  high  and  low, 
Chaucer  was  afforded  the  broad  and  intimate  knowledge  of  life  which 
makes  his  plots  charming  for  all  time. 

In  order  to  do  justice  to  his  plots  it  is  impossible  to  consid- 
er them  apart  from  his  living  characters.  We  marvel  at  his  fine  dis- 
crimination in  borrowing  from  nis  French,  Italian,  and  English  sources. 
He  srufts  the  order  of  details  and  rejects  much  material  so  that  he 
will  be  aole  to  picture  the  motives  of  the  knight,  the  friar,  or  the 
miller,  Wxiom  he  has  known.  With  the  skill  of  an  expert  he  selects  in 


-2- 


each  casa  what  he  needs  to  attain  his  realistic  and  dramatic  purpose. 

We  a ay  now  take  up  the  somces  anh  original  material  in  Chaucer’s 
plots  to  see  how  artful  he  is  in  securing  unity,  coherence,  and  pro- 
portion. As  we  pass  from  his  early  vision  poems, — tne  "Book  of  the 
Duchesse,"  the  "Parlement  of  Foules",  the  "Hious  of  Fame , " ana  the 
"Legend  of  Good  Women"  to  his  longest  poem,  "Troilus  and  Cnseyde",  and 
then  to  representative  types  of  mediaeval  literature  in  the  "Canter- 
bury Tales",  we  snould  be  impressed  with  the  steady  and  rapid  develop- 
ment of  Cnaucer's  surprisingly  resourceful  narrative  art. 


. 


. 


- 


-3— 


Chapter  I 
The  Vision  Poems 

That  Chaucer  should  adopt  the  fiction  of  a dream  in  the  "Book 
of  the  Duchesse",  the  "Par lement  of  Foulss",  the  "Sous  of  Fame",  and 
tx'-e  prologue  to  the  "Legend  of  Good  Women"  need  not  aere  he  explained; 
for  the  dream  ms  a favorite  literary  device  of  his  age  as  well  as 
the  age  preceding  and  tne  one  following.  Neither  does  the  fact  that 
he  "borrowed  without  hesitation  need  any  explanation;  for  the  crime  of 
plagiarism  was  unknown  in  the  Middle  Ages;  in  truth,  each  author  took 
what  he  needed  from  others.  What  does  interest  us  in  our  present  dis- 
cussion is  how  Chancer  assimilates  his  "borrowed  material  to  suit  his 
^articular  purpose.  This  consideration  "brings  us  at  once  to  the  Old 
French  vision-poems.  The  following  summaries  ^ of  a few  representa- 
tive types  to  which  Chaucer  frequently  alludes  will  give  us  the  usual 
setting,  guides,  courts,  goudesses,  gods,  and  the  purpose  of  the  dream. 

let  us  begin  with  "Le  Roman  de  la  Rose"  of  Guillaume  de  Lorris 
and  Jean  de  Meun,  a poem  vsnich  directly  or  indirectly  has  had  a very 
great  influence  upon  Chaucer  and  other  writers  of  love  visions. 

It  opens  with  a discourse  on  dreams.  The  author's  belief  in 
dreams  has  been  strengthened  by  Scipio's  dream.  While  asleep  in  bed 
one  May  night,  the  poet  dreams  that  ne  is  wandering  in  a garden,  on 
the  walls  of  which  are  painted  ten  hideous  figures.  He  knocks  at  the 
wicket.  The  gate  is  at  once  opened  by  Idleness,  a beautiful  damsel, 
and  aae  leads  him  to  the  owner  of  tne  garden.  Mirth.  In  the  aistance 

(1)  For  these  I have  been  greatly  indebted  to  Professor  Neilson's  "The 
Origins  and  Sourees  of  the  Court  of  love",  and  Proiessor  Sypherd's 
"Studies  in  Chaucer's  House  of  Fame." 


-4- 


the  god  of  Love  approaches  with  his  companion.  Beauty,  ihu  behind 
the  hero,  C-apid  with  his  good  and  bad  quivers,  follows.  When  the  dream- 
er is  viewing  the  story  of  ITarcissus  and  admiring  the  rosebuds  in  a 
fountain,  he  is  wounded  by  Cupid's  good  darts.  Thenceforth,  he  be- 
comes a vassal  of  love.  Immediately  he  has  a great  desire  to  possess 
the  particular  rose-bud  on  which  he  has  set  his  heart.  After  repeated 
trials  he  is  permitted  to  kiss  the  rose.  Then  reason  approaches  and 
talks  on  the  folly  of  love  and  the  fickleness  of  Fortune.  The  dreamer, 
naving  listened  to  the  miseries  or  the  present,  ana  a tirade  against 
marriage  is  soon  met  by  the  goa  of  Love,  who  promises  him  assistance. 
When  the  forces  of  Love  have  sworn  fealty,  Ifeture  enters  her  workshop, 
venus  finally  arrives  to  direct  the  attack  on  the  tower  where  the 
lover's  friend  is  comined.  At  this  point  Jean  ae  Meun  makes  tne  dis- 
tinction between  Venus  as  the  goddess  of  sensual  love,  and  her  son  as 
the  god  of  "l'amour  au  coeur. " 

In  Froissart's  "Tkraays  d'Anour"  to  which  we  may  next  turn  the 
poet  invokes  Morpheus,  Juno,  and  Qleus  to  send  him  a messenger  of  sleep. 
With  the  arrival  of  the  messenger  the  poet  falls  asleep  ana  dreams  of 
a wood  brightened  with  a flowery  landscape  and  singing  birds.  Two 
ladies,  Plaisance  and  hsperance,  approach  the  nero  wno  is  almost  a 
despairing  lover.  Giving  much  imormation  they  conduct  nim  to  the 
pavilion  of  the  god  of  Love.  On  their  way  they  associate  with  Beau 
Semblant,  Doulo  Regard,  Franc  vouloir,  and  otner  huntsmen  engaged  in 
"l'amoureuse  chace".  The  god  of  Love  greets  the  poet  kindly,  and 
commands  the  guides  now  to  lead  him  on  through  the  wood,  uy  the  side 
of  a stream  they  find  Bel  Acueil  plaiting  chaplets  of  flowers.  The 


-5- 


poat  immediately  kneels  before  his  lady  ana  begs  her  to  love  him.  She 
permits  him  to  kiss  the  chaplet  ana  then  sne  kisses  it  herself  and 
places  it  upon  his  head.  In  the  midst  of  his  joy  he  amices  with  thanks 
to  Morpheus  through  wnom  all  true  lovers  are  comforted  in  sleep. 

The  relation  of  I.kchaut  to  the  love-lorn  prince  of  "I«  Dit  de 
la  Fontaine"  and.  the  introduction  there  01  the  story  of  Ceyx  and 
Alcyone  make  tnat  poem  of  significance  for  our  stpdy.  The  poem  begins 
with  the  poet  awakening  at  the  sound  of  a sad  voice.  He  writes  down 
the  tender  complaint  that  it  carries.  Among  other  things  it  includes 
tne  story  of  Ceyx  and  Alcyone.  Soon  hhcnant  finds  the  singer  and 
learns  that  he  is  singing  in  obedience  to  his  loro,  whose  advances 
nave  been  unfavorable  to  his  laay.  Together  the  two  seek  the  unhappy 
lover  ana  f ina  him  a gentleman,  handsome,  amiaole,  ana  like  the  son  of 
a king;  and  then  they  go  into  a garden  where  there  is  a magnificent 
xountain  of  crystal  adorned  with  bas-reliefs  representing  tne  stories 
of  Ikrcissus  ana  of  the  rape  of  Helen.  Having  neard  the  confidence  of 
the  lover,  the  tnree  fall  asleep.  Venus  appears  in  a dream  to  tell 
them  tne  story  ox  the  Judgment  of  Paris  and  to  promise  her  protection 
to  the  young  lora.  To  tne  lover  comes  a gracious  vision  of  his  mis- 
tress but  it  vanishes  when  ne  awakens.  The  gentlemen  go  off  on  a long 
journey. 

The  month  and  the  function  cf  the  god  of  Love  are  of  interest 
in  "Bit  du  Yergier".  It  is  April  when  the  poet  walks  down  the  garden 
path  which  leads  to  a beautiful  orchard  full  of  trees,  flowers,  and 
singing  birds.  Lost  in  amorous  reverie,  the  poet  passes  through  the 
orchard  into  a meadow,  nsre  he  beholds  a vision.  Six  damsels  and 


. 

. 

■■  4 

■ 

' .. 

, 

, 

< • 

‘ 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

, 


. 


-6- 


six  youths  are  accompanying  a creature  of  irarvelous  figure  whom  they 
honour  as  their  sovereign  and  their  god.  This  one  eAplains  to  the  poet 
his  power  in  making  tne  foolish  wise  ana  the  wise  foolish,  the  poor 
rich  and  so  on.  He  declares  his  name,  tells  why  he  is  olind,  and  re- 
veals the  use  of  his  wings  ana  the  use  of  nis  arrows.  The  damsels  1 
names  are  Grace,  Pitie,  Esperance,  Souvenir,  Franchise,  and  Atemper- 
ance;  tne  youths'  names,  Valoir,  Doux  Fenser,  Doux  Plaisir,  Loiant6, 
Geler,  and  Desir;  and  the  six  adversaries',  Dangier,  Paour,  Honte, 
Durte,  Cruantfe,  and  Doutance.  Then  in  parting  the  god  advises  the  poet 
to  oe  loyal  and  secret  in  his  love  ana  afraid  of  displeasing  his  lady. 

In  the  next  a few  mors  characters  are  added  for  Chaucer  "be- 
sides the  idea  that  the  poet  attempts  to  hide  himself  under  a thorn. 

Hie  poet  is  thinking  of  the  glories  of  the  spring  season  in  the  opening 
of  Deschamps'  "Le  lay  Amourem".  While  he  walks  in  the  wood,  he  meets 
a tall  fellow  who  is  Disdain  hearing  a cudgel.  After  a brief  conver- 
sation the  poet  passes  into  a "beautiful  meadow  where  there  is  a spring, 
a clear  stream,  and  a tall  pine  tree.  Under  the  latter  many  people 
are  praying  to  God  to  send  grace  to  them,  and  his  love  to  the  world. 

In  the  meantime,  the  poet  slips  under  a thorn  to  hide  and  to  watch. 

When  the  famous  lovers  from  history  ana  legend  are  leaving,  th^ espy 
the  poet,  "but  instead  of  harming  aim  they  tell  the  god  of  Love  that  he 
is  Eustache  who  ought  to  receive  his  favor.  Then  the  poet  awakes. 

The  allegorical  material  in  Nicole  de  Ivlargival's  "la  Thnthere 
d'  Amours"  furnishes  hints  for  Chaucer  which  we  shall  later  note.  The 
poet  is  taken  away  "by  birds  into  a forest  full  of  beasts.  One  beast 
is  of  great  beauty  ana  because  of  ner  sweet  breath  all  the  dragons 
follow  uer  about.  There  are  aounas  oi  music.  Approaching  the  post 


. 

* 


-7- 


is  a great  company  dressed  in  costly  garments  and  honoured  by  the  pre- 
sence of  the  god  of  Love.  The  latter  salutes  Nicole  ana  inquires  who 
he  is  ana  who  sent  him.  Then  the  poet  recounts  the  things  he  has  Just 
seen  in  the  forest.  After  listening  courteously  the  god  of  Love  pro- 
fesses that  Nicole  should  "become  his  vassal.  The  god  of  Love  reproaches 
the  poet  hut,,  nevertheless,,  he  accompanies  him  to  the  valley  where  the 
poet's  laay  dwells.  Venus  offers  advice  in  winning  the  lady  he sides 
giving  tij:ee  companions,  Esperance,  Do  us  Penser,  and  Dous  Souvenir  to 
lead  him  to  the  palace  of  Fortune,  which  is  often  the  model  of  the  scan- 
sion in  the  "Anticlaudianua"  of  Alanus  de  Insulis,  and  the  ’'Korean  ie 
la  hose".  It  is  on  a hill  of  ice  and  is,  moreover,  half  ruinous  and 
half  gorgeous.  At  the  gate  blind  Fortune  sits  to  determine  according  to 
her  own  caprice  whether  one  is  welcomed  by  Eur,  who  innao its  the  part 
called  "Prcsperite",  or  by  ileseur,  who  rules  the  part  called  "Adversite". 

At  this  moment  tne  goddess  being  angry  sends  Nicole  to  Meseur.  later 
through  the  influence  of  Grace  and  -oone  volenti,  he  is  transferred  to 
Eur's  abode  where  his  lady,  "la  douce  panthere"  is  abiding.  Even  yet  his 
courage  fails  him  and  he  has  to  he  stpported  by  the  ladies.  At  last  the 
panther  yields  to  the  wishes  of  her  mother  Piti6  ana  accepts  him.  Then 
the  poet  awakes. 

In  "la  Fab  lei  Don  Dieu  d'Aaours"  the  bird's  court  furnishes  another 
suggestion  for  our  English  poet.  The  poet  nas  a vision  that  he  is  mik- 
ing one  bright  May  morning  in  a fair  garden  watered  by  a clear  brook 
and  surrounded  by  a ditch  besides  a marvellous  wall  within  which  no 
"vilain"  is  admitted.  Under  a tree  he  sits  and  listens  to  singing  birds 
until  he  almost  thinks  himself  in  paradise.  The  nightingale  calls  a- 
bcut  her  the  other  birds  to  near  complaints  of  the  degeneration  of  Love. 


. 


♦ 


. 

, 

, 

, 


V. 


. 

, 

. 


-8- 

The  hawk  wishes  to  lay  the  blame  on  the  "villaine  gent”,  but  here  tne 
thrush  objects  to  the  hawk  confining  love  to  clerks  ani  knights.  The 
jay,  too,  is  democratic,  ana  thinks  that  to  love  and  be  well  loved  is 
to  be  as  worthy  ana  wise  as  a clerk.  To  this  the  nightingale  agrees 
and  dismisses  the  assembly.  The  lover  left  ieligntless  has  a second 
vision.  In  the  midst  of  his  talk  with  his  laay  a dragon  carries  her 
off.  Soon  after  he  has  allowed  himself  to  declare  the  folly  of  serv- 
ing the  god  of  Love,  he  is  approached  by  the  god  of  Love  who  promises 
him  aid  and  proceeds  to  carry  the  poet  to  his  palace,  "Champ  Fleur i", 
supported  by  pillars  representing  months.  A girl  snows  the  poet  the 
glories  of  the  mansion  an:,  later  the  sights  in  the  meadow  beyond  the 
mansion.  On  tneir  return  to  the  god's  abode,  they  fine,  the  goa  just 
arrived  with  the  aero's  laay.  The  hero  awakes  and  finds  it  but  a 
dream. 

Another  court  scene  of  the  birds  we  have  in  "la  Meese  des 
Oisiana  et  le  Plais  des  Chanonesses  et  des  Grises  Nonains",  of  Jean  de 
Cond6.  The  meadows  are  beautiful  with  flowers  and  clear  brooks  in  the 
month  of  May.  The  author  dreams  that  just  before  dawn  he  is  sitting 
under  a pine  in  a beautiful  forest  and  is  listening  to  birds  singing. 
Messengers  come  from  the  goddess  of  Love  to  announce  her  approach  and 
to  call  on  all  the  eirus  to  prepare  a welcome.  Boon  a gorgeous  throne 
is  set  up.  Upon  this  venus  takes  ner  seat  to  dispense  justice  and  re- 
ceive adoration.  The  complaints  are  postponed  until  she  has  dined. 

The  nightingale  sings  mass  and  the  parrot  gives  a sermon  on  the  four 
virtues  of  lovers,  namely.  Obedience,  Patience,  Loyalty,  and  Hope.  After 
the  banquet  those  who  have  suits  come  before  the  goddess.  A company  of 
canonesses  present  a complaint  against  the  gray  nuns  for  stealing  a- 


-10- 

way  tneir  lovers.  Venus  xinally  sees  fit  to  give  the  uecision  in 
favor  of  the  nuns.  They  all  accept  the  veruict  without  a comment. 

The  "Judgment  of  the  King  of  bohemia"  furnishes  suggestions  for 
Chaucer's  lovers  as  we  shall  later  indicate.  One  spring  morning  the 
poet  wanders  out  into  a park  iillea  with  "beautiful  trees  ana  bright 
blossoms.  Seating  himself  by  a brook  overshadowed  by  a tower,  he  lis- 
tens to  the  singing  birds  in  the  trees  that  conceal  him.  Soon  a lady 
with  a maid  and  a little  dog  goes  past.  She  meets  a knight  but  passes 
on  without  returning  his  greeting.  He  overtakes  her  and  again  greets 
ner.  Tn«n  she  apologizes  for  her  inattention  which  her  ae9p  tnots  have 
occasioned.  The  knight  begs  her  to  tell  him  the  cause  of  ner  pensive 
mooa.  Perhaps  he  can  comiort  ner,  for  he,  too,  has  been  having  bitter 
grief . Agiceing  to  exchange  com  idences  tney  proceed  to  relate  their 
sorrows.  The  lany  has  lost  her  husband  by  deatn;  the  knight  has  found 
nis  laay  inconstant.  Tne  dispute  arises  over  who  has  tne  greater  loss. 
Tne  concealed  poet  tnen  reveals  himself  and  suggests  tnat  they  submit 
the  question  to  the  King  of  Bohemia.  Tney  noth  consent  to  this.  The 
king  decides,  at  last,  in  fatJor  ox  tne  knight. 

Tne  stories  sketened  aDOve  illustrate  several  general  cna.iacter- 
istics  of  tne  love  vision  poems,  me  poet  may  be  expected  to  fall  a - 
sleep  ana  dream  tnat  he  is  in  a flowery  meadow,  a beautiful  wood,  or 
some  strange  country  with  singing  birds  making  glad  the  May  morning. 
Wandering  about  in  tnis  setting  he  is  soon  met  by  a guide  who  is  a 
lady,  a nan,  a bird,  or  a beast.  Then  he  is  led  to  a court  surround- 
ed by  trees,  streams,  and  fountains.  The  walls  of  the  court  or  temple 
are  painted  with  stories  of  love,  history,  and  mythology.  Grouped 
within  and  without  the  hall  are  courtiers.  Danger,  Shame,  Pity,  Delight, 
Hope,  Envy,  Despair,  and  Lust.  Cupid  with  his  arrows  meets  the  lover 


-10- 


and  shoots  his  darts.  Venus  and  Fortune  seated  on  their  thrones  have 

eT  ' Tx^> 

their  usual  functions  of  administrating  aid  and  condemnation  respective- 
ly. The  god  of  Love  interviews  the  hero  reproaching  or  praising  him 
for  nis  service.  And  so  throughout  the  poems  the  individuality  of  no 
one  stands  cut;  for  the  dream  is  just  a mere  device  to  get  the  reader 
into  a sort  of  fairyland,  peopled  by  personified  abstractions — Hope, 
Mercy,  Desire,  Jealousy,  and  Despair — or  by  typical  lovers  scarcely 
more  concrete  than  the  abstractions  themselves.  To  proauce  the 
actual  phenomena  there  ms  no  attempt,  but  yet,  the  atmosphere  of  un- 
reality in  a strange  country,  no  doubt,  appealed  to  our  forefathers 
as  a welcome  relief  from  the  "tumult  and  ugliness  of  everyday  life." 

Chaucer  in  his  delightful  versions  of  the  love  vision  blends 
reality  with  these  conventional  situations.  Ihking  a suggestion  here 
ana  theie  from  these  poems  and  skilfully  applying  a situation  of  his 
own  day,  he  produces  a haunting  charm  not  to  be  found  in  the  French 
vision-poems.  In  our  present  discussion  we  shall  be  especially  in- 
terested in  the  abundance  of  life  and  the  movement  which  Chaucer  has 
brought  within  the  framework  of  his  stories,  how  he  has  modified,  re- 
trenched or  elaborated  the  conventional  outline  bringing  into  prominence 
what  will  contribute  to  the  desired  impression,  and  rejecting  whatever 
will  weaken. 

The  "Book  of  the  Duchesse,"  Chaucer's  first  vision  poem,  in 
point  of  constructive  art,  differs  from  his  predecessors'  in  teat  the 
conventional  situation — a dream,  a paradise  of  trees,  flowers,  biras, 
a lamenting  lover,  and  an  incomparable  lady— is  applied  to  a personal 
elegy.  To  the  conventional  setting  and  personages  Chaucer  gives  a 
reality  not  found  in  the  above  mentioned  French  vision-poems.  Here, 


-11- 


Chaucer  wishing  to  honor  Blanche,  the  wife  of  Joun  of  Gaunt,  detach- 
es himself  By  a skilful  use  of  tne  familiar  conventions  so  that  instead 
of  praising  ner  himself  he  nas  the  Black  knight,  her  husband,  recount 
her  praise.  The  Black  knight  Being  her  social  equal  and  ner  companion 
is  the  one  who  can  speak  without  constraint. 

The  theme  of  the  poem — the  Bitter  grief  of  the  despairing  hus- 
Band  who  has  lost  the  love  of  his  youth  and  can  think  of  nothing  But 
her  gracious  perfections — is  suggested  in  the  proem  and  is  cleverly 
developed  step  By  step  from  nere  to  the  end  of  the  poem.  There  are 
two  contrasted  characters  selected  to  make  the  plan  of  the  story 
possiBle.  The  dreamer  is  a man  with  a child's  understanding  and  a 
gentle  sympathy.  He  understands  nothing,  not  even  the  cause  of  his 
sleeplessness  nor  his  dream.  ^Child-like  he  never  reasons  But  feels 
and  gets  impressions".  He  is  touched  By  Alcyone's  vow  that  she  will 
eat  no  oread*  By  the  little  puppy's  fawning  on  him,  and  by  the  lone 
knight's  laments.  The  other  character,  the  knight,  is  an  adept  in 
courtly  conventions. 

Let  us  follow  these  Characters  in  the  story.  The  poet  complains 
of  an  insomnia  which  has  deprived  him  of  all  Joy.  One  night  he  has 
brought  to  him  a romance,  the  "Metamorp hoses"  of  Ovid.  Having  read  the 
sorrow  of  Alcyone,  whose  husband  was  lost  on  the  sea  voyage;  and  the 
power  of  the  god  of  Sleep,  he  promises  Morpheus  a feather  bed  if  he 
will  Bring  him  sleep.  Immediately  he  falls  asleep  and  dreams  of  a 
Beautiful  May  morning.  The  chirping  Birds  awaken  him.  His  room  is 
gilded  with  sun  rays  and  painted  with  the  text  of  the  "Ronan  de  la 
Rose".  Below  his  window  he  hears  the  sound  of  a hunting  horn  and  sees 
a troop  of  huntsmen  going  past.  He  then  mounts  a horse  and  follows 


■ 

. 

. 

. 


. 


. 

» 

. 

. 

. 

« 


-12- 


them  to  the  forest  wnere  Emperor  Octavian  is  hunting.  After  a long 
chase  the  aogs  lose  the  scent.  The  poet  is  walking  a way  from  the 
tree,  where  he  x:as  been  stationed, when  a little  puppy  cornea  to  him 
ana  fawns  on  him.  He  tries  to  catch  it  hut  it  dasr.es  down  a flowery 
path.  Soon  he  seas  a man  in  ‘black  leaning  with  his  hack  against  an  oak. 
This  handsome  looking  knight  of  about  four  and  twenty  is  lamenting  the 
death  of  a peerless  lady  and  is  so  absorbed  that  he  neither  nears  nor 
sees  the  dreamer.  Haraly  has  he  uttered  the  last  words  when  his  blood 
rusnes  hack  to  his  heart  and  he  turns  as  pale  as  death.  The  poet  awk- 
•vvardly  accosts  him,  ana  alter  he  n&s  exchanged  a few  courteous  words 
with  the  knight,  he  remarks  that  the  hunt  seems  to  he  at  an  end.  To 
this  the  knight  answers  that  he  has  not  thought  of  the  hunt.  Begged 
by  the  poet  to  tell  his  sorrow  and  thereoy  lighten  it,  the  knight  re- 
plies that  there  is  no  possible  alleviation  for  his  woe.  His  Joy  has 
been  turned  to  grief  and  Fortune  nas  taken  away  his  queen.  The  poet 
does  not  understand  his  meaning  and  reproaches  him  for  his  deep  sorrow 
which  is  too  great  for  the  cause.  Then  laying  aside  his  metaphors, 
he  speaks  of  his  early  service  to  the  god  of  Love,  his  laay's  beauty, 
her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  frankness,  and  her  harmony  and  poise.  Her 
merits  surpassed  those  of  all  other  ladies.  She  rejected  his  love  and 
devotion.  He,  despondent,  waited  a whole  year  before  ne  came  back  to 
her.  She  knew  then  that  his  devotions  were  genuine.  Tney  were  married 
and  sweet  ms  their  union.  "Wnere  is  she  now?"  Chaucer  asks  for  he 
wisr.es  the  knight  to  unburden  his  sorrow.  "She  is  dead,"  he  answers. 

"Is  that  your  lot?  My  Goa,  it  is  true,"  says  the  poet.  The  dreamer 
has  no  more  to  say.  The  huntsmen  ride  back  from  the  hunt.  A bell 
rings  in  the  castle,  ana  the  poet  awakes  holding  in  his  hand  the 


, 


. 


. 


- 


. 


“ 13— 


story  of  Alcyone  and  Ceyx.  The  dreamer  himself  in  trouble  in  the  be- 
ginning because  of  his  insomnia  lias  forgotten  his  woes,  so  deeply  mov- 
ed is  he  in  consoling  the  stranger,  and  does  not  remember  them  when 
he  awakes. 

Let  us  now  consider  the  three  divisions  of  the  poem — the  sleep- 
lessness of  the  poet;  the  hunt;  and  the  grief  of  the  black  knight— in 
tneir  relation  to  the  French  poems  above  summarized. 

The  prologue,  in  which  is  the  first  division,  harmonizes  with 
the  poem  ana  gives  a companion  setting.  Cnaucer  foum  a suggestion 
for  the  mood  of  his  areamer  in  "la  Paradys  & 'Amours".  Froissart's 
areamer  is  melancholy  and  therefore  cannot  sleep.  He  is  a woful  lover. 
This  suggested  to  Chaucer  the  mood  of  gentle  sorrow  for  his  dreamier 
which  is  sustained  throughout  the  "Book  of  the  Ducnesse".  Froissart, 
however,  does  not  have  this  mood  pervade  his  story,  for  sorrow  is  not 
the  tone.  He,  on  the  contrary,  deals  with  tre  joy  of  love,  its  comforts, 
and  rewards  which  the  god  of  Love  grants  to  the  lover,  and  makes  the 
“situation  and  mood  of  sorrow  momentary,  external,  and  evanescent^ 
Chaucer's  situation  and  mood  become  a part  of  the  dreamer's  temperament 
and  serve  to  unify  the  different  divisions  of  the  poem. 

The  skiliul  U3e  of  Chaucer's  indebtedness  to  I&chant  in  the  pro- 
logue is  equally  interesting.  I\$achant  in  the  "Fontaine  Amoureuse" 
hears  one,  in  obedience  to  the  commands  of  nis  lord  who  has  been  re- 
jected, singing  a complaint  embodying  tne  story  of  Alcyone  and  Ceyx. 

The  singer  closes  with  an  appeal  to  Morpheus  to  send  him  to  his  lady 
in  a vision  so  tnat  she  seeing  his  sintering  might  relent.  Then  Machant 
approaches  the  singer  ana  tney  seek  the  lord  who  tells  of  his  sorrow. 

They  all  fall  asleep.  The  lord  das  a vision  of  his  lady  smiling  on 


-14- 


him  ana  saying  gracious  words.  Chaucer  does  not  overlook  this  slight 
psychological  link  of  cause  ana  effect  between  the  legend  of  Alcyone 
and  Ceyx  and  the  vision  of  the  lover.  ./ia chant  promises  a feather  bed 
to  Morpheus,  and  this,  too,  appeals  to  Chaucer. 

With  both  of  these  sources  in  mind  Chaucer  draws  from  them  free- 
ly. In  the  summary  of  the  "Book  of  the  Ducnesse"  we  have  seen  that 
the  mood  of  gentle  sorrow;  the  gift  of  a feather  bed  to  Morpheus,  and 
the  psychological  link  between  the  vision  in  the  prologue  and  the 
third  division  oi  the  poem  have  been  adapted  to  this  particular  story. 
Instead  of  the  laments  of  a constant  wife  Chaucer  das  fashioned  the 
laments  of  a constant  lover.  The  saa  hours  of  Alcyone  have  net  the 
realistic  turn  moat  the  lover’s  lament  has.  Tnis  we  shall  refer  to 
later  in  the  discussion  of  the  thira  division  of  the  poem. 

Turning  to  the  hunt  we  have  nothing  of  any  account  cited  by  way 
of  a parallel.  And  yet  in  tnis  incident  which  brings  the  dreamer  from 
his  room,  where  he  falls  asleep  after  invoking  Morpheus,  to  the  path 
in  the  wood  which  brings  him  to  the  lamenting  lover,  we  nave  a few 
minor  resemblances  to  the  French  poems.  Emperor  Qctavian  (d68)  is 
mentioned  in  Iv&cnant's  "Jugement  do u Roy  de  Behaigne"  and  figures  in 
many  romantic  poems.  Chaucer  learns  who  he  is  from  a hunter  ana  then 
gives  the  najee  no  further  cons icierat ion.  This  meeting  of  new  names 
nappens  so  in  dreams.  Ana  so  Chaucer's  aream  is  given  a touch  of  pro- 
bability. The  charming  picture  of  tne  lost  puppy  is  another  sugges- 
tion from  the  "Jugement  dou  Roy  de  nexiaigne"  or  "Le  Dit  aou  Lyon". 
Chaucer  has  the  dog  act  as  a guide  to  lead  him  to  fine,  the  black  knight. 
Then  the  dog  is  mentioned  no  more. 

Passing  now  to  the  third  division,  the  lamenting  lover,  to  which 


. 


. 

. 


-15- 


is  devoted  about  two  thirds  of  the  poem  we  find  many  nints  gathered 
from  Machaht's  "Jugement  dou  Hoy  de  banaigne " the  eighth  "Motet", 

"Hemeae  de  Fortune",  the  "lay  de  Uomiort",  ana  the  "Homan  de  la  Hose". 
Unaer  Chaucer's  pen  the  conventional  lament  takes  on  a personal  note 
not  found  in  nis  French  sources.  The  lady  in  "behaigne"  faints  after 
her  story  of  grief  is  recounted,  she,  moroever,  merely  exchanges  her 
comidence  with  the  bereaved  lord;  the  knight  in  the  "Duchesse"  tuans 
as  pale  as  death  after  his  lament  and  later  continues  his  sorrow  in  a 
well  conceived  dialogue.  Tr_e  knight  not  only  lists  a conventional 
inventory  of  his  laay's  beauty,  but  dwells  on  her  hair,  ana  lingers 
on  her  eyes,  waicn  were  open  not  too  wide,  resides,  the  lover  paints 
ner  beauty,  demeanor,  and  speech  in  spasmodical  fashion  such  as  is 
natural  in  a dream  worla. 

The  conclusion  of  the  last  division  of  the  poem  has  been  unduly 
criticised.  It  is  very  artistic.  Some  critics  contend  that  the  words, 
"She  is  dead",  are  not  fitting  for  a climax  since  the  dreamer  neard 
the  Cause  of  the  grief  when  he  first  approached  the  lover.  If  Chaucer's 
purpose  in  writing  the  lament  were  to  give  the  dreamer  information 
concerning  the  grief  of  the  black  knight,  the  supposition  is  true;  but 
the  purpose  as  we  have  heard  it  from  the  dreamer’s  own  words  is  not 
this.  The  dreamer,  though  aware  of  the  lament  of  the  death  of  the  lady, 
begs  the  knight  to  toll  his  sorrows  cc  that  the  knight  thereby,  may  be 
comforted,  Now  in  order  to  take  the  role  of  a sincere  listener  the 
dreamer’s  instinctive  delicacy  must  hide  the  knowledge  of  the  lover’s 
bereavement.  After  a conversation,  describing  the  lady's  beauty,  poise, 
dignity,  and  charitable  spirit  to  a child-like  friend  as  the  sole  au- 
dience; the  bare  truth  in  these  words,  "She  is  aead.," 


is  the  only  end- 


# 


I 


-15- 


ing  that  could  make  the  lament  complete. 

The  artlessness  or  naivete  of  Chaucer  has  given  the  charm  to 
the  whole  poem.  Chancer* s dreamer,  an  imaginary  fellow,  having  the 
appearance  of  innocence  and  helplessness,  has  been  skilfully  used  as 
a device  to  bring  out  the  pathos  of  the  personal  elegy.  Ana  the  tone 
of  sadness  thus  effected  lingers  with  the  reader  after  he  has  finished 
the  poem. 

Chaucer's  personality  is  coming  to  the  surface  in  his  second 
vision  poem,  the  "Parlement  of  Joules".  The  remote  suggestions  of 
French  and  Italian  writers  and  direct  borrowings  from  them  are  assimi- 
lated by  Chaucer  sc  that  they  are  made  very  much  his  own.  They  are, 
moreover,  "freshened  by  his  imagination"  before  they  are  given  back 
to  Chaucer's  readers. 

His  story  in  machinery  and  execution  is  admiraole.  Again  the 
material  from  his  favorite  authors  is  given  a personal  application.  The 
story  is  generally  accepted  as  a courtly  compliment  to  Ricnard  II  of 
England  and  Anne  of  Bohemia.  It  is  to  celebrate  the  betrothal  of 
Richard  to  Anne.  The  formal  represents  the  Queen.  The  three  tercel 
eagles  were  long  accepted  as  Guillaume  de  Baviere,  ^ Friedrich  of 
Meissen,  and  Richard.  The  other  birds  make  up  the  different  classes  in 
England— the  birds  of  prey  are  taken  to  represent  the  nooles;  the  worm- 
fowls,  the  bourgeois;  the  water-fowls,  the  mercantile  class;  and  the 
seed-fowl,  the  agricultural  class.  These  characters  are  the  cnief  ones 
in  the  parliament  of  birds  presided  over  by  the  goddess  of  Nature. 

The  dreamer  -®s  the  minor  character  in  the  dialogue  in  the  "Book 
of  the  Duchesse".  Eere  he  does  not  take  any  part  in  the  conversation. 


(l)  Or  according  to  itoerson,  Cbailes  VI  of  France. 


-17- 


And  yet,  nevertheless,  he  is  very  necessary  in  the  narrative.  He  in- 
troduces the  setting  by  means  of  beautiful  descriptions  which,  we  shall 
mention  later.  After  he  has  described  the  temple  of  Venus  and  the 
court  of  the  goddess  of  Nature,  he  remains  a silent  witness  at  the 
parliament,  hearing,  seeing,  and  recording  the  proceedings. 

There  are  three  divisions  in  the  "Parlement  of  Foules"— the 
introduction;  the  park  with  its  trees,  personages,  and  temple;  and 
the  parliament  of  fowls. 

let  us  pause  here  to  follow  the  course  of  the  story.  The  poem 
opens  with  the  poet's  astonishment  at  the  wonderful  nature  of  Love. 
Often  has  he  read  of  its  miracles.  One  day  while  he  sits  reading  old 
books,  he  happens  on  the  dream  of  Scipio.  Past  and  long  he  reads  of 
Af r icanus  taking  his  grandson  from  the  world  and  revealing  to  him  the 
future  dwellings  of  the  righteous  and  of  the  wicked.  Then  he  falls 
asleep  and  dreams  that  the  same  Afr icanus  comes  to  him  and  says  that 
he  will  requite  him  for  his  recent  reading.  Having  invoked  Cytherea 
to  help  him  with  his  rhyme,  Chaucer  resumes  the  story  of  his  dream. 

Afr  icanus  seizes  him  and  leads  him  to  a park  on  the  gats  of  which  are 
two  inscriptions:  one,  the  blissful  realm  of  ..eart's  cure;  ana  the 
other,  the  realm  of  Danger  and  Disdain.  As  soon  as  they  enter  the  gate, 
Africanus  disappears,  lany  flowers,  trees  of  all  kinds,  ana  birds 
fill  the  park.  The  whispering  winds  ana  singing  birds  make  mellow 
the  temperate  air.  Cupid  stands  under  a tree  beside  a well,  sharpening 
his  arrows.  Close  by  are  Plesaunce,  Aray,  Lust,  Curtesye,  Craft,  and 
others.  The  poet  nears  a temple  of  Venus  which  is  supported  by  great 
pillars  of  jasper.  Around  it  dance  dishevelled  women;  on  the  roof 
are  hundreds  of  doves;  before  the  door  sit  Dame  Pees  and  Dame  Fhcience; 


. 

, 


% 


.8— 


within,  stan_s  the  god  Pr iap us  being  crooned  with  garlands  of  fresh 
flowers;  ana  in  a dim  privy  corner  are  Venus  and  her  porter  Richesse. 
Painted  on  the  walls  are  many  stories  of  noole  women.  Coning  out  a- 
gain  to  the  green  park  the  poet  sees  a queen,  the  goddess  of  Nature, 
sitting  upon  her  throne  in  a hall  built  of  branches,  birds  of  all 
kinds  are  present,  for  it  is  St.  Valentine’s  Day  when  the  birds  come 
to  cnoose  their  mates.  Nature  bias  them  take  their  places  according 
to  their  kind.  And  so  they  group  themselves  as  oirds  of  prey,  worm- 
fowls,  water-fowls,  ana.  seed-birds.  Nature  holds  a female  bird  of 
great  beauty  on  her  hand,  and  tells  all  according  to  their  rank  to 
speak  their  choices.  Three  tercel  eagles  speak  first  and  all  cnoose 
the  forme  1 on  Nature's  land.  The  forme  1 blushes.  With  passion  ana 
respect  the  tercel  eagles  present  themselves.  Their  speeches  alone 
last  from  dawn  until  dusk.  The  protests  of  tne  other  fowls  become  so 
loud  tnat  the  ceremony  is  disturbed.  Nature  has  to  command  mat  they 
each  elect  a representative.  Then  in  the  noisy  ieoate  about  the  manner 
in  which  a lover  should  pay  his  court,  the  falcon,  the  cuckoo,  the 
goos.8,  ana  the  dove,  severally  show  themselves  chivalrous,  selfish, 
coarse,  and  tender,  each  true  to  the  class  that  he  represents,  Irameaia- 
tely  following  these  noisy  declarations,  constantly  interrupted  oy 
different  parts  of  the  assembly,  Nature  decides  that  the  lady  is  to 
cnocse  for  herself.  The  formal  begs  Nature  tc  grant  her  a year's 
respite.  This  request  is  granted.  Tire  other  birds  quickly  choose 
their  mates  ana  fly  off  with  them  singing  a rondel  to  a French  tune: 

"He  who  loves  well  is  slow  to  forget".  This  singing  awakens  the  poet. 

Referring  to  our  stannary  we  may  observe  the  application  of 
Chaucer's  inspired  passages.  The  conception  of  the  court  trial  has 


. 


-15- 


been  traced  to  "Eualine  et  Eglantine'*.  In  tnis  French  poem  two  ladies 
dispute  which  has  the  more  courteous  lover.  At  last  the  court  of  fowls 
decide  for  them.  Hie  application  by  Chaucer  we  shall  consider  later. 

Hie  first  evidence  of  the  above  mentioned  inspiration  is  seen 
in  the  rei lection  on  the  wonders  of  love  in  the  proem.  For  this  we  have 
no  direct  parallel  cited  by  critics.  Chaucer  has  devised  it  to  begin 
the  theme  of  his  poem  devoted  to  the  wonders  of  love.  The  idea  of  love 
is  sustained  throughout  by  hints  which  we  shall  note  In  the  course  of 
the  story  as  Chaucer  has  arr&ngea  them. 

Here  Chaucer  introduces  his  guiae.  He  nas  been  reacting  Cicero's 
"Somnitm  Scipionie"  and  falls  asleep.  In  his  dream  comes  Airicanus 
of  the  "Soranium"  to  reward  him  for  his  readings.  Hie  description  of 
Afncanus1  appearance  is  a translation  from  Claudian.  .before  Chaucer 
journeys  with  him  he  invokes  Cytherea  to  aid  him  in  his  rhyme.  Some 
of  the  vision  poems  we  have  noticed  have  invocations  but  these  are 
not  essential  parts  of  them.  What  is  interesting  in  this  one  is  the 
i act  that  Chaucer  acknowledges  Venus  to  be  the  one  who  made  nis  dream, 
we  have  then  a well  cnosen  assistant  for  the  telling  or  a love  story. 

Having  arrived  at  tne  park  gate  under  the  guidance  of  Afncanus 
Chaucer  benolds  inscriptions  on  the  g&te.  Th«se  were  suggested  by 
Xante's  "Inferno"  tnough  they  are  not  in  Chaucer  so  awe  inspiring  as 
in  his  original.  Afncanus,  in  the  story  Chaucer  read  before  dreaming 
tnis  dream,  took  his  grandson  of  the  world  and  revealed  to  him  the 
future  dwellings  of  the  righteous  and  ox  the  wicked.  Now  in  the  "Parle- 
ment  of  Foules"  he  leads  Chaucer  to  a gate  bearing  the  inscriptions, 
the  blissful  realm  of  heart's  curs,  ana  the  realm  of  Danger  and  Dis- 


dain, 


. 

. 


—20— 


In  the  second  division  of  the  poem  Ghaucer  has  been  influenced 
oy  Boccaccio's  "Teseide".  He  has  used  a few  passages  from  that  poem 
in  the  following  description.  The  temple  is  raised  on  lofty  columns 
around  which  dance  young  men  and  maidens  and  above' which  fly  the  doves 
Monna  Pace  with  Pazienza  at  her  side  sits  before  the  door.  Within, 
the  altar  flames  are  fanned  by  signs  caused  by  Gelosia.  To  Priapus 
the  highest  place  is  assigned.  Lying  about  in  the  sanctuary  are  many 
relics  showing  the  power  of  love,  such  as  broken  bows  of  Diana's 
band  and  Atalanta's  apples.  The  walls  have  painted  storms  of  Pyra- 
mus,  Thisbe,  ana  many  other  lovers.  In  a more  secret  part  of  the 
temple  Venus  resides.  Inside  her  apartment,  guarded  by  Ricchezza,  a 
dim  light  is  cast  on  the  reclining  goddess.  Bacchus  ana  Geres  are 
seated  on  either  side.  This  picture  emphasizes  the  theme  of  love  and 
Ghaucer  needed  a similar  scene  before  ne  ms  ready  to  discuss  the  love 
debate  in  the  parliament. 

Passing  to  the  last  division,  the  parliament,  we  find  Chaucer's 
fancy  was  enkindled  by  "Planet us  i'hturae"  of  Alanua  de  Insulis  and 
Jean  de  Condi's  "la  Messe  des  Oisians  et  li  Plais  des  Chanonesses  et 
des  Grises  Ilona  ms".  The  latter  which  has  already  been  here  summariz- 
ed we  shall  compare  with  the  "Par lament  of  Foules".  In  the  French 
poem  Venus  sits  on  her  gorgeous  throne  surrounded  by  her  birds.  She 
nears  the  complaints  of  the  canons sses  against  the  grey  nuns.  Finally 
she  makes  the  decision.  In  the  English  poem  Mature  sits  on  the  throne 
Though  Chaucer  lias  already  described  Venus  in  the  temple  in  the  park, 
it  seems  that  he  uses  Nature  not  to  avoid  repetition  but  to  carry  out 
his  own  idea  of  dispensation.  The  formal  is  granted  the  right  to 
choose  for  herself.  Human  nature  then  is  to  be  her  final  juage. 


. 


. 


- -21- 


ohaucer  prepares  the  reader  for  this  by  having  Mature  preside  as  the 
judge  in  the  parliament.  This  little  stroke  of  realism  is  a result 
of  Chaucer’s  artlessness. 

In  the  closing  of  the  parliament  Chaucer  has  the  lo-.ver  class 
of  birds  scoff  at  the  bird  aristocracy.  Thus  he  uses  the  former  to 
expose  the  affectation  in  the  refinement  of  courtly  love.  By  this 
blending  of  sentimental  poetry  and  comedy  on  the  part  of  the  lower  fowls 
Chaucer  has  given  to  his  "fttr  lament  of  Foules"  a dramatic  oriskness  and 
an  air  of  gaiety  mingled  with  romance. 

The  conclusion  is  like  a dream.  The  singing  of  birds  as  they 
fly  away  awaken  the  dreamer.  He  then  takes  up  other  books  and  begins 
to  read  hoping  soma  day  to  firm,  something  setter. 

The  11  Ho  us  of  Ikme"  in  constructive  art  surpasses  the  "Book  of  the 
Duchesse"  ana  the  "Par lament  of  Foules".  Chaucer  nas  drawn  from  more 
sources,  but,  nevertheless,  displays  more  originality  in  weaving  them 
into  a fascinating  tale.  The  general  notion  of  the  House  of  Fame  is 
indebted  to  Ovid's  "Metamorphoses ".  Chaucer,  moreover,  has  been  in- 
fluenced by  recollections  of  philosophy,  science,  and  art  gathered  by 
his  French,  Italian,  ana  let  in  study.  The  stories  tnus  gleaned  are 
•-vcven  by  his  powerful  imagination  into  a connected  and  consistent  plot. 

This  poem  like  the  other  two  above  mentioned  belongs  to  the 
genre  of  the  Old  French  vision  poems.  The  "Book  of  the  Ducnesse"  had 
its  conventions  applied  to  a personal  elegy;  the  “"Par lament  of  Foules" 
had  its  material  spun  into  a personal  compliment;  ana  the  "Hous  of 
Fame"  we  shall  now  proceed  to  see  lias  its  conventional  personages  and 
situations  "paraded  forth  to  display  a humorous  survey  of  the  whole 
world  of  mortal  endeavors!1  The  mood  "runs  rippling  on  in  high  spirited 


* 


-22- 


fun."  The  dreamer,  a melancholy  and  sleepless  lover  in  the  ’’Book  of 
the  Ducnesse",  is  here  di.ferently  employed.  The  dreamer  assumes  an 
attitude  of  wonder  during  his  swift  journey  which  is  of  intense  ironical 
significance.  In  Chaucer's  first  vision-poem  his  dreamer  was  in  effect 
a fictitious  character;  in  this  one  he  is  addressed  by  the  golden 
eagle  as  "Geoffrey". 

There  are  three  hooks  in  tnis  ''ambitious''  design.  The  first  is  the 
introduction;  the  second,  the  marvelous  journey;  and  the  third,  an 
account  of  the  House  of  Fame  ruled  by  caprices. 

An  epitome  of  these  will  make  cur  divisions  more  perceptible. 

Book  I. 

The  poet  prays  God  to  turn  dreams  to  good.  He,  himself,  knows 
not  why  this  is  a dream  or  why  that  is.  He  cannot  think  what  is  the 
significance  of  dreams.  He  wonders  if  they  are  caused  by  sickness, 
prison,  or  great  distress.  Once  more  he  repeats  his  prayer  that  the 
Holy  Hood  may  turn  every  dream  to  good.  Never  mad  anyone  so  great  a 
dream  as  had  he  on  the  tenth  of  December.  Then  he  invokes  the  god  of 
Sleep  and  attaches  to  his  prayer  a curse  upon  those  who  criticise  his 
writings.  With  tnis  his  dream  begins.  The  poet  finds  himself  in  a 
temple  made  all  of  glass.  It  is,  he  knows,  the  temple  of  Venus.  On 
the  walls  is  the  story  of  Aeneas,  more  particularly  of  his  love  affairs 
which  Chaucer  relates  as  he  sees  them.  Leaving  the  temple  he  views 
but  a vast  -.desert  of  sane,  and  high  up  in  the  sky  an  eagle  swooping 
downward. 

Book  II 


Thinking  again  of  his  wonderful  dream  tne  poet  declares  there 
never  was  such  a dream.  Now  he  invokes  Venus  before  he  continues  telling 


* 


-23- 


it.  The  eagle  swoops  still  lower  and  snatches  dim  "up  ana  carries  him 
so  rapidly  that  he  loses  consciousness.  Speaking  in  a man's  voice  the 
eagle  says  that  he  is  a messenger  of  Jupiter  sent  to  reward  the  poet 
for  his  service  to  blind  Cupid  and  fair  Venus  by  bearing  him  to  the 
House  of  Ihrae  where  he  snail  hear  tidings  of  Love's  folk.  The  palace 
is  situated  mid-way  between  heaven  ana  earth  and  sea  so  that  every 
sound  that  leaves  the  earth  passes  to  it.  So  palataole  is  this  reason- 
ing to  the  unlearned  man  that  the  eagle  says  that  he  might  shake  it  by 
the  bill.  Up  they  soar.  The  fields,  hills,  mountains,  and  forests 
beneath  dwindle  to  a point.  Soon  they  are  acove  the  galaxy  ana  the 
clouds.  Once  more  the  eagle,  eager  to  give  another  lecture,  asks  the 
poet  i i he  wishes  to  learn  of  .the  stars;  but  the  poet  replies  that  he 
is  too  old  for  such  learning.  Hearing  a loud  noise  the  eagle  explains 
that  they  are  now  at  the  House  of  Tame  from  which  the  sound  is  coming. 
Then  he  sets  the  poet  down  xn  a street  aha  bids  him  walk  forth  to  the 
House  of  Fame.  The  poet  regaining  his  courage  asks  further  concerning 
the  nature  of  the  sounds  that  he  hears.  Thereupon  the  eagle  answers 
that  the  sounds  take  the  shape  of  the  persons  who  utter  them  aha  thus 
the  house  is  peopled.  With  this  he  bids  his  charge  farewell  and 
promises  to  wait  for  him. 

hook  III. 

Here  the  poet  calls  upon  .Apollo  to  assist  him  to  linish  telling 
the  dream.  When  he  leaves  the  eagle,  he  advances  to  the  house  which 
is  very  strange  to  him.  Upon  a hill  of  ice  it  stanas.  Inside  are 
minstrels,,  musicians,  trumpeters,  magicians,  and  others  who  have  to 
do  with  news.  The  walls,  the  floor,  the  roof  of  the  hall  are  all  of 
gold.  On  a oa'is  sits  the  Queen,  not  tall,  now  short.  Straight  down 


. 


. 


. 


-24- 


to  the  door  from  the  dais  are  pillars  on  whicn  are  great  nobles  ana 
i oik  of  dignity.  The  poet  watcnes  the  various  companies  of  suppliants 
approach  to  ask  her  for  boons,  which  she  grants  as  she  lists.  A by- 
stander at  Chaucer's  back  now  asks  what  is  his  name  and  why  has  he 
come  thither.  "It  is,"  says  Chaucer,  "to  learn  tidings  of  Love's  folk". 
The  stranger  kindly  leads  him  out  of  the  palace  ana  snows  him  a wicker 
house  quaintly  wrought,  whirling  arouna.  The  winnows  are  open  and 
from  them  are  coming  the  timings  true  ana  false.  Perched  high  on  a 
rock  is  his  eagls.  To  him  the  poet  goes  ana  prays  him  to  remain  while 
he  sees  the  wonders  in  this  house  do-vn  in  the  valley.  The  eagle  assures 
him  that  it  is  his  intention  to  wait  and  since  Jupiter  nas  sent  him  to 
assist  the  poet  he  will  help  him  enter  the  revolving  nouse.  Immediate- 
ly he  picks  up  the  poet  ana  flies  through  one  of  the  open  windows.  The 
turning  auout  of  the  bird- like  cage  cease 3 and  Chaucer  has  a chance  to 
look  aoout.  He  hears  a great  noise  in  a corner  where  men  are  talking 
of  love-tidings.  Thus  abruptly  the  poem  en..s, 

With  this  surux&ry  before  us  ve  shall  follow  the  three  books 
through,  noting  the  borrowed  suggestions  that  Chaucer  found  necessary 
to  develop  his  fanciful  poem. 

In  book  I the  introduction  includes  the  reflection  on  dreams 
which  acts  as  a stimulus  to  the  reader's  curiosity;  the  invocation; 
ana  the  description  of  the  temple  of  Venus.  The  invocation  is  a pure 
convention  in  sue  stance . Cnaucer  had  found  che  idea  in  the  "Anti- 
claudianus"  which  he  had  Just  read.  Morpheus  was  frequently  summon- 
ed as  we  nave  aireaay  noticed  in  froissart's  "ikradya  &' Amour". 

Chaucer's  invocation  to  the  gou  of  Sleep  helps  to  intensity  the  re- 
flection on  dreams.  The  third  part,  the  description  of  the  temple  of 


-35- 


Venus  incluo.es  the  story  of  the  "Aeneid".  But  Chaucer  nas  confined 
his  selection  to  the  love  affairs.  Aeolu3  is  trumpeting  the  news.  Iat- 
or  in  the  Ho  vise  of  Fame  he  has  the  god  of  I'/mas  trumpeting  tne  fame  of 
each  suppliant. 

In  the  secona  book  is  the  swift  marvelous  journey.  The  eagle 
mentioned,  at  tne  close  oi  tne  first  book  now  "becomes  tne  guile.  As 
Virgil  and.  Beatrice  conduct  Dante  turougn  tne  world  of  spirit  so  the 
philosophical  eagle  "bears  Chaucer  aloft  to  tne  House  of  Fame  giving 
him  a scientific  discourse  on  tne  nature  of  sound.  This  sclent iiic 
lecture  prepares  the  reader  for  the  phantasmagoria  in  tne  House  of 
Fame.  The  conversation  is  carried  on  almost  "by  the  eagle  alone.  His 
humor  keeps  hie  lectures  palatable,  lor  example, 

"lewedly  to  a la  wed  K&n 
Speke,  am  snewe  him  swiche  skiles. 

That  he  nay  shake  hem  by  the  biles". 

Just  at  the  point  of  digression  in  the  eagle's  discourse,  Chaucer  re- 
marks that  he  is  too  old  to  learn  of  astronomy. 

Passing  to  the  third  book  we  find  Ovid's  House  of  Fame  some- 
what changed.  Chaucer  devises  nine  companies  to  appear  before  the 
goddess  of  Fame  to  present  a survey  of  the  whole  world  of  mortal  en- 
deavors. The  first  company  is  awarded  oblivion.  The  second  is  given 
world  ’.vide  slander  instead  of  honor.  The  tuird  is  granted  what  it 
seeks — the  good  renown  that  it  deserves.  The  fourth  and  the  fifth 
request  that  their  merits  may  be  forgotten;  again  Fame  consents  to 
the  petition  of  the  former,  but  objects  to  that  of  the  latter.  To  the 
sixth  class,  the  do-nothings,  who  have  idled  all  their  life  and  yet 
are  eager  for  reputation.  Fame  gives  their  boon.  Another  sluggard 


, 

. 

. 


, 


-26- 


company  requests  the  same  Taut  is  given  derision  and  reproach.  The 
eighth  company,  the  villains,  seek  good  renown  and  are  disappointed. 
The  last  and  ninth  company,  also  villains,  exulting  in  their  crimes, 
ask  an  evil  reputation  ana  receive  it.  This  allegory  Chaucer  tells 
in  a lively  narrative.  Hie  picture  of  Aeolus  to  announce  Fame's 
decision  is  so  refreshing  in  its  figurative  language  and  its  delicate 
humor  that  the  repeated  appearance  of  the  trumpeter  aoes  not  become 
monotonous.  Artistically  however,  the  third  book  is  disproportionate- 
ly long. 

Ovid  has  influenced  Chaucer  more  in  the  description  of  the 
nouse  of  Humor  than  in  that  of  the  house  of  Fame.  Ovid's  house  is 
the  residence  of  Fame  but  it  is  of  a maze-like  structure  ana  full  of 
incessant  raurmurings,  echoes  and  reports;  no  convocation  of  famous 
men  is  there.  Chaucer,  on  the  other  hand,  lias  combined  realism  ana 
romanticism  in  his  House  of  Rumor . He  has  read  uany  romances  both 
Efcench  and  English  and  has  discovered  the  whirling  castle  which  the 
errant  knight  can  enter  only  by  the  help  of  a guiding  animal,  that 
moves  more  swiftly  than  the  castle  itself.  The  love  vision  poems  ao 
not  have  a whirling  house.  Furthermore,  Chaucer  knew  that  the  ancient 
houses  of  the  celts  were  made  of  wicker . Out  of  his  general  knowledge 
he  fashions  a -wicker  house  with  a vertiginous  motion.  Chaucer  has  not 
confused  the  sense  of  the  let  in  "fama"  which  means  "reputation”  or 
"renown".  Its  substance,  however,  is  nothing  but  rumors.  How  the 
connection  between  the  House  or  Humor  and  the  House  of  Fame  is  very 
evident.  From  the  House  of  Rumor  the  rumors  come  to  the  House  of  Fame 
where  Aeolus  trumpets  abroad  the  reputations.  This  furnishes  Chaucer 


an  excellent  situation  for  the  humorous  story  of  the  ruling  passion 


. 

. 


» 

. 


-27- 


of  mankind. 

When  the  poet  nears  a great  noise  in  a corner  where  men  are 
talking  of  love  tidings,  he  abruptly  ends  his  story  and  leaves  his 
reader  wondering  over  the  conclusion.  Nothing  is  left  for  him  to  tell 
hut  contemporary  love  stories  of  what  he  sees  and  nears.  Like  a dream- 
er he  breaks  off  in  the  midst  of  a thot.  The  reader  is  thus  given  a 
chance  to  guess  at  what  the  conclusion  would  be  and  no  doubt  feels  that 
Chaucer  has  30  artfully  presented  a picture  of  the  poet's  desire  to 
flee  from  the  press  and  dwell  in  the  realm  of  fantasy,  that  he  needs 
not  develop  the  theme,  a discussion  of  love,  to  make  the  poet's  story 
a dramatic  whole. 

Chaucer  continues  to  have  a great  respect  for  his  predecessors 
ana  borrows  from  them  freely  in  his  Prologue  to  the  "Legend  of  Good 
Women".  And  once  more  his  power  in  assimilating  this  material 
attracts  our  attention.  In  the  other  three  dream  poems,  above  mentioned, 
we  have  pointed  out  that  the  poems  were  filled  not  with  colorless  and 
shadowless  allegorical  personages,  and  conventional  situations  de- 
tached from  the  theme;  but  with  an  abundance  of  life,  movement,  and 
reality  0 earing  on  the  theme  itself. 

As  in  the  other  poems  the  Prologue  uses  the  vision  machinery. 

It  contains  the  vision,  the  court  of  Love,  the  May  morning,  the  sing- 
ing birds,  and  the  springing  flowers.  The  conventional  lover  frequent- 
ly employs  the  poetry  of  the  Trench  "marguerite  colt"  in  praising  his 
lady.  This  poem  stays  closer  to  the  types  of  convention  than  the  "Hous 
of  Fame"  and  yet,  nevertheless,  the  style  is  fresh  and  the  story  is 
more  unified.  Chaucer  again  appears  as  a dramatic  personage.  We  re- 
call that  he  ms  an  observer  in  the  "Parlem9nt  of  Foules"  and  a 


. 


. 


. 


* 

. 

’ 

■ 


^64  | | 


. 


, 


' 


. 


-28- 


drama  tic  personage  in  the  "Hons  of  Fame".  The  former  we  fauna  was 
written  to  celebrate  the  royal  carriage  of  Richard  II  to  the  Princess 
.Anne  of  Bohemia;  and  the  ’’Book  of  the  Duchesse"  to  eulogize  Blanche 
the  wife  of  John  of  Gaunt.  Does  the  Prologue  celebrate  Queen  Anne? 

Since  the  application  of  the  marguerite  is  still  a point  for  argument 
and  is,  moreover,  not  a natter  of  prime  importance  in  our  present 
stuiy,  we  need  not  delay  to  consider  the  supposition. 

In  our  discussion  of  the  application  of  Chaucer's  borrowings 
from  the  Italian,  Batin,  and  French  poets  it  will  be  necessary  to 
pause  for  a moment  to  define  the  "marguerite  cult"  which  colored  his 
praise  of  the  daisy.  The  praise  of  the  "marguerite"  had  already  been 
sung  by  Machant,  Froissa.ro,  and  Deschawps,  and  so  it  seems  that  Chaucer 
used  the  convention  in  his  affectionate  treatment  of  the  daisy  in  the 
Prologue. 

According  to  Professor  Lowes  the  tares  French  poets  contributed 
the  following  features  to  the  "cult":  One  is  led  to  suppose  that 

Machant 's  "Dit  de  la  Marguerite"  was  composed  for  Pierre  de  Lusignan 
and  celebrates  one  of  his  mistresses.  The  la  my  whom  the  daisy  symboliz- 
es is  mined  the  iiYench.  Marguerite  and  is  considered  the  choicest  one. 
Though  Froissart  has  l.hcnant  's  marguerite  in  his  mind,  yet  he  fashions 
another  lady.  She  is  the  lady  of  the  "Paradys  d' Amours"  who  makes  for 
him  the  chaplet  of  marguerites  an:,  is  honored  in  his  "balade".  later 
in  anotner  poem,  "La  Prison  Anoureuse",  Froissart  writing  to  an  im- 
prisoned friend  whom  he  calls  Rose,  after  rejecting  the  flowers  sub- 
ordinated to  the  daisy  in  the  "balade"  of  the  "Paradys",  mentions  one 
small  flower  which,  is  called  the  marguerite  encircled  in  gold.  Again 
he  defends  the  marguerite  against  the  pretensions  of  other  flowers 


. 

. 


.•  3 


. 


. 


■ 


. 


-22- 


in  two  later  poems,  "Past oure lie”  and  "Plaidoirie  de  la  Hose  et  de  la 
Violette".  Thus  "building  on  Machaat  Froissart  has  made  an  addition  to 
the  cultus.  The  third  French  poet,  Descnamps,  in  his  "lay  de  Franchise" 
carries  the  symoolism  of  "Dit  de  la  I.arguerite"  one  step  further.  More 
will  "be  said  of  this  one  later.  And  so  in  these  poems  we  notice  tmx, 
the  marguerite  not  only  symbolizes  a royal  person  "but  is  the  choicest  of 
the  flowers. 

.before  we  take  up  a detailed  observation  of  the  B version  of  the 
Prologue  we  my  find  it  interesting  to  examine  the  general  differences 
oetwech  the  two  versions.  In  the  B version  there  is  a more  immediate 
indebtedness  to  the  French  "marguerite  cult".  It,  moreover,  contains 
a greater  praise  of  the  daisy.  To  the  daisy.  Queen  Alcsstis,  ohaucer 
is  directed  to  dedicate  the  book.  The  moment  of  suspense  that  follows 
this  air.  ends  in  a surprised  recognition  oi  the  Queen  makes  the  B ver- 
sion more  dramatic  than  the  A version  which  aoes  not  include  the  dedica- 
tion of  the  book.  Now  for  the  structure  itself,  version  A is  better 
idian  version  B.  Version  A begins  with  morning,  provides  for  the  long 
day,  passes  to  evening,  implies  the  duration  of  the  night  ana  brings 
the  reader  to  the  morning  once  more.  After  completing  the  circle  of 
the  day  it  comes  to  its  climax  in  the  account  of  the  virtues  of  the 
rlo..va . The  sequence  is  good  and  the  story  moves  steadily  forward. 

There  is  a beginning, a middle,  and  an  ena.  Version  B,  on  the  other 
liana,  begins  with  morning,  passes  to  the  virtues  of  the  flowers  and  the 
poet's  own  love  for  the  daisy,  comes  to  evening,  and  without  transi- 
tion goes  back  to  daylight.  The.lengtny  description  of  the  mating  of 
"birds  which  repeats  the  sentiment  already  expressed  in  11.130-151  does 
not  have  anything  to  do  with  the  main  action  of  the  story  but  ratner 


. 


, 

. 

. 


. 


1 


-30- 

pro  longs  the  May  day  setting  to  a disproportionate  length.  Professor 
Lowes  says  tnat  in  the  A version  the  "bird  passage  (1. 132-43)  is  a 
dramatic  touch,  and  links  the  May  setting  with  the  a&in  action  of  the 
poem.  Yet  even  with  these  faults  of  the  a version  it  is  more  refresh- 
ing, spontaneous,  and  artistic  than  the  A version. 

Let  us  here  follow  tne  course  of  the  B version  so  that  we  can 
note  more  clearly  the  application  of  the  reminiscences  from  Boccaccio, 
the  French  vision  poems,  and  the  French  "marguex-ite  cult". 

The  delightful  Prologue  opens  with  the  poet’s  reflection  on  his 
studious  and  literary  disposition.  Y?hen  the  May  'day  comes,  though, 
he  lays  aside  his  hooks  for  the  fields  and  especially  for  the  'daisy, 
harly  in  the  morning  he  rises  ana  stays  awake  until  the  daisy  closes 
lor  her  rest.  He  laments  that  ne  cannot  praise  her  and  30  calls  on 
lovers  who  can  sing  her  praise  to  help  him.  While  the  "birds  are 
mrb ling  lays  of  "love  and  welcoming  summer,  ana  the  sweet  fragrance  of 
the  flowers  drifts  to  him,  he  sinks  softly  down  on  his  elbows  to  abide 
the  whole  lay  gazing  upon  the  'daisy.  He  does  not  desire  to  praise  the 
i lower  above  the  leaf.  When  darkness  comes  ano.  the  daisy  closes  her 
petals,  it  is  the  hour  that  me  goes  to  the  arbor  where  his  bed  is 
strewn  with  flowers.  He  falls  asleep  and  dreams  that  he  is  in  the  same 
meadow  where  his  flower  was  blooming,  and  from  afar,  walking  in  the 
meadow,  is  the  god  of  Love  leading  a Queen.  She,  wearing  a gold  "fret" 
set  with  many  white  flowers,  is  dressed  in  green  and  looks  exactly  like 
a daisy.  The  god  of  Love  wearing  a crown  of  gold  is  clad  with  a silk 
garment  embroidered  with  green  leaves.  In  his  hand  are  two  fiery  darts. 
He  begins  to  spread  his  wings  as  he  advances.  So  womanly,  so  benignant- 
ly,  ana  so  meekly  the  Queen  comes  to-.auu  txxe  poet  that  she  causes  the 


. 


. 


. 


-31- 


poet  to  "break  into  a ballad  bidding  all  the  ‘beautiful  and  virtuous 
ladies  of  history  bow  before  her.  Behind  the  god  of  Love  the  poet  sees 
nineteen  ladies  in  royal  habit, and  following  t^.ese,  an  enormous  number 
of  women.  First  they  worship  the  daisy  and  then  sit  round  in  a circle 
according  to  their  station.  The  poet  kneels  with  the  flowers.  When 
the  god  of  Love  sees  him  kneeling  among  his  flowers,  lie  asks  him  who 
he  is.  Upon  being  informed  the  god  of  Love  rebukes  him  for  writing 
the  translation  of  the  ’’Homan  de  la  Ross"  am  the  story  of  "Criseyde" 
which  are  against  Love's  laws.  The  Queen  speaks  in  Chaucer's  behalf 
and  tells  that  the  poet  has  written  the  "Ho us  of  Fame",  the  "Death  of 
Blaunche  the  Duchesse ",  the  "Par lament  of  Foules"  besides  other  books. 
She  begs  the  god  of  Love  to  have  mercy  and  promises  that  the  offender 
will  serve  him  by  singing  praises  of  women  who  were  true  all  their 
lives.  Finally  the  god  of  Love  shows  mercy  and  asks  the  poet  if  he 
knows  the  lady,  "hay,  sir",  answers  Chaucer.  The  god  then  speaks  cf 
the  book  lying  in  Chaucer's  chest,  that  is  of  Queen  Alcestis  who  was 

' I 

turned  into  a daisy.  "Now  knowe  I hir",  the  poet  replies.  Once  more 
the  god  rebukes  him,  this  time  for  leaving  Alcestis  out  of  the  ballad 
"Hyd  Aosolon,  thy  tresses",  and  commands  him  to  include  her  in  the  next 
book  with  all  the  other  true  ladies.  After  giving  further  directions 
he  say3  that  he  must  go  home  to  Paradise.  Whereupon  Chaucer  takes  his 
book  and  sets  to  work  on  his  first  legend. 

This  Prologue  with  its  sustained  tone  of  Joy,  its  beauty  of 
imagery,  and  its  buoyant  freshness  of  an  English  IvSaytide  is  one  of 
Chaucer's  most  successful  ana  most  beautiful  productions  in  conception 
and  in  execution. 


The  personal  note  of  the  poet  is  unusual  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 


. 

. 

. 


. 


tury  "but  hers  Chaucer,  no twi tn s tana ing , expresses  nis  t&ste,  his 
attitude  and  his  relations  with  the  court.  His  thoughts  are  so  spon- 
taneous that  they  seem  not  to  he  grouped  according  to  the  structure 
of  Chaucer's  predecessors. 

Nevertheless,  let  us  now  trace  the  possiole  indebtedness  for  the 
three  parts  of  the  poem:  the  praise  of  a May  day;  the  description  of 
the  god  of  Love  and  the  noble  Queen;  and  the  poet's  interview  with 
these  divinities. 

In  the  first  division  the  poet  lays  aside  his  delightful  books 
and  seeks  the  gentle  sweeping  meadow  on  a l.iay  morning  to  enjoy  the 
daisy  while  the  birds  sing  in  the  numerous  trees,  both  the  "marguerite >' 
poems  and  the  vision  poems  have  similar  introductions.  The  dream 
setting  is  net  used  by  Deschamps  in  the  "lay  de  franchise"  and  the  wor- 
ship is  focused  upon  the  marguerite.  In  the  "Roman  de  la  Rose"  the 
dream  setting  is  delayed  until  the  poet  gives  a snort  discussion  on 
dreams;  an  account  of  the  nature  of  the  book  itself;  and  a praise  of  the 
month  of  May.  Deschamps  in  his  "I ay  Anoureux"  has  delayed  his  dream 
setting  longer  than  Guillaume  de  Lor r is  and  Jean  de  Ivleun.  He  opens  his 
poem  with  a praise  of  spring  ana  the  month  of  May.  The  beauties  of 
the  season  delight  him.  He  falls  asleep  and  dreams  that  he  is  walking 
through  the  forest,  then  into  a meadow  where  the  god  of  Love  is 
surrounded  by  a company.  Ana  still  another  example  of  this  delayed 
dream  setting  ana  a dream  transporting  the  poet  to  his  May  day  delights 
is  found  in  Guillaume  de  Machant ' s "Dit  du  Vergier".  The  poet  rises, 
one  April  morning,  ana  goes  into  a garden.  He  is  de ligated  by  the 
song  of  the  birds  ana  by  the  fragrance  of  waits,  yellow,  and  pink 
flowers.  In  this  happy  spot  he  thinks  of  a is  laay.  The  dream  follows 
in  which  the  poet  dreams  tnat  he  is  in  the  same  meadow  where  he  had  just 


-33- 


been  walking. 

Thus  we  see  that  Chaucer  adapted  to  hi  a story  a conventional 
device  for  getting  his  dream  uiider  way.  He  needed  for  nis  no’ole  lady 
an  atmosphere  of  peace,  daintiness,  ana  beauty.  Finding  in  these 
several  suggestions  such  a setting,  he  cleverly  applied  it. 

Hear  the  close  of  this  division  of  his  poem,  Chaucer's  allusion 
to  the  "Ieef"  and  "Flour"  emphasizes  his  panegyric  of  the  daisy.  He 
\oes  not  wish  his  praise  to  the  daisy  to  be  misconstrues.  His  flower 
that  he  is  praising  is  not  the  "Flour"  of  the  English  court  society. 

That  "Flour"  is  of  a different  note.  He  holds  aear  both  the  "Leef" 
and  the  "Flour". 

Passing  from  the  day  wandering  in  the  meadow  to  the  dream  porcicn 
of  this  poem,  we  find  that  the  two  are  closely  joined.  In  the  vision 
Chaucer  thinks  that  he  is  in  the  same  meadow  and  sees  a Queen  who  re- 
presents his  daisy.  The  experience  of  the  previous  day,  therefore, 
comes  to  him  as  he  sleeps  in  his  little  arbor.  In  describing  the  daisy's 
perfect  sweetness  in  the  awakened  world  Chaucer  nas  been  m:  luancea  by 
Idacnaac.  He  tnere  speaks  of  the  odor  of  the  f lower  wnich.  is  contrary 
to  fact.  Now  in  the  dream  world  he  turns  to  Froissart  to  enable  him 
&o  define  the  crown  of  Alcestis.  Froissart  speaks  of  the  white  leaves 
of  the  daisy  and  not  of  an  individual  daisy. 

But  as  to  the  primary  conception  or  the  fundamental  elements  of 
its  structure  Chaucer  is  indebted  to  no  definite  model.  He  had  at  his 
command  all  the  traditions  of  the  love  vision  'genre"  and  the  "marguer- 
ite cult"  but  his  plan  for  his  Prologue  originated  in  his  own  mind.  He 
paints  a wide  and  crowded  scene  without  any  confusion  or  distraction  of 
attention  from  its  central  fig-ore.  Queen  Alcestis. 


34- 


Chaucer  'a  story  moves  swiftly  and  smoothly  forward.  The  Queen 
with  the  god  of  Love  and  her  worshipful  attendants  approaches  the  lov- 
er. The  lover  is  found  in  Love’s  domain  and  is  charged  with  trespassr 
ing.  He  meets  soon  with  a second  charge  which  is  neresy  against  Love’s 
law  Oased  on  what  the  offender  has  said  or  sung.  Then  the  Queen  dis- 
tinctly recognizes  that  her  master  owes  mercy  to  the  suppliant.  She 
pleads  for  him,  ana  finally  gives  him  a penance.  The  poet  is  ignorant, 
until  the  god  of  Love  tells  him,  that  this  la-ay  is  after  all  some  one 
of  whom  he  has  already  known.  Upon  a is  recognition  he  praises  her 
affectionately.  In  this  orief  summary  we  have  the  Queen  at  all  times 
the  central  figure.  The  poet  is  inspired  to  "break  into  a ballad 
upon  seeing  her.  Her  attendants  worship  her.  The  god  of  Love  con- 
sents to  her  plea.  And  at  the  close  the  poet  eulogizes  her. 

As  a court  poet  Chaucer  never  forgot  his  audience.  Showing  that 
the  vision  poems  and  the  French  "marguerite  cult"  were  popular  in  his 
age  he  adapted  them  to  his  own  original  stories.  Thus  in  his  "Look  of 
the  Duchesse",  the  "Parlement  of  Houles,"  ana  the  "Eous  of  Fame"  he 
used  many  of  the  conventions  of  the  vision  poems.  In  the  Prologue  he 
used  the  two  popular  types.  So  doing  he  satisfied  not  only  his  own 
artistic  taste  hut  the  public's  as  well.  With  it  all  he  was  more  sub- 
jective, more  personal,  and.  more  individual  in  the  use  of  his  mterial 
than  his  predecessors.  His  feeling  for  the  real,  touched  by  a fine 
sense  of  humor,  shines  forth  in  trese  stories.  In  the  last  poem,  tne 
Prologue,  Chaucer  wisr.es  to  tell  of  actual  women  and  his  personal 
feelings  are  increasingly  asserting  themselves.  He  is  now  prepared 
to  display  a wider  outlook  on  life  and  in  his  masterpiece,  his  "Canter- 
bury Tales",  he  himself  becomes  one  of  the  pilgrims. 


-35- 


Chapter  II. 

"Troilus  and  Criaeyde  ■' 

In  "Troilus  and  Criseyde"  Chaucer  has  developed  a long  narrative 
which  W.  M.  Rossetti  asserts  is  the  most  beautiful  one  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. And  Professor  Kittredge  declares  that  it  is  not  only  the  first 
novel,  in  the  modern  sense,  teat  ms  ever  written  but  one  of  the  best. 

Some  readers,  however,  are  disappointed  when  they  read  it  for  they  do  not 
find  in  it  rapid  movement.  They  declare  the  dialogues  too  long;  the  solil- 
oquies languid;  and  the  analysis  of  sentiment,  emotion,  ana  passion  un- 
attractive. This  retarded  action  is  due  to  the  fact  tnat  the  poem  puts 
little  stress  on  incidents  but  much  stress  on  psycnological  analysis  and 
dramatic  revelation  of  cnaracter.  Those  who  ao  enjoy  the  tale  acknowledge 
that  it  is  not  one  for  a spare  nour.  To  them  only  by  careful  reading  is 
Cnaucer's  psychological  treatment  made  clear  and  charming. 

The  story  of  Troilus  and  Criseyde  is  a mediaeval  product.  Homer 
merely  mentions  Troilus,  a son  of  Priam  ("Iliad”  XXXIV  257).  Virgil  de- 
votes but  four  verses  to  his  death  ("Aeneid"  I 474-78).  Dictys  who  took 
arms  against  Troy  furnished  journals  of  the  war  in  his  "Epherneris  Belli 
Trojani",  In  the  sixth  century  Ikres,  a Trojan, employs  this  history  in 
his  "De  Excidio  Trojal  Historia"  ana.  gives  an  authentic  account  of  the 
war  from  the  standpoint  of  the  defeated  Trojans.  His  Troilus  is  depicted 
as  a great  leader,  wno  on  several  occasions  puts  the  Greeks  to  flight; 
wounds  Diomede,  Agamemnon,  and  even  Achillas;  and  when  taken  at  great  dis- 
advantage is  slain,  hriseida  is  accorded  some  prominence.  In  the  twelfth 
century  Benoit  de  Saints  Mors  takes  a brief  epitome  of  Ihres  for  the 


ye 

basis  of  his  "Roman  de  Trori"  and  supplements  it  with  matter  from  Dictys 
and  Ovid.  His  history  begins  with  the  Argonautic  expedition,  and  descrioes 


.. 


♦ 


. 

. 


. 

. 


. 


' . 


. . 

. 


■ 


IP 


-36- 

the  rape  of  Helen,  the  gathering  of  the  Greek  hosts,  the  siege  and  fall 
of  Troy,  ana  the  return  oi  the  Greek  warriors,  and  the  death  of  Ulysses. 
Benoit  invents  the  story  of  the  faithful  love  of  Troilus  ana  the  faith- 
lessness of  Grisayde.  His  heroine  is  probaoly  a coraoiration  of  Homer's 
xriseis,  slave  of  Achilles  ("Iliad"  I 1840),  and  Chryseis,  daughter  of 
Chrysea  ("Iliad"  I 18<3 ) • Pandarus  is  merely  mentionea  as  one  of  the  Tro- 
jan parliament.  In  the  next  century  a Batin  paraphrase  of  Benoit's  poem 
with  an  extended  denunciation  of  women  was  written  hy  Guido  delle  Colonne 
in  his  "Historia  Trojana".  It  is  in  this  poem  that  Chaucer  finds  the 
martial  deeds  of  Troilus  recounted  in  full.  But  Before  this  proauction  of 
Guido,  Joseph  of  Exeter,  in  the  ninth  decade  of  the  twelfth  century 
elaoorated  the  work  of  Dares  in  "De  Bello  Trojano".  Professor  Root  finds 
inevitable  traces  of  this  account  in  Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Criseyde.  " 

In  the  fourteenth  century  we  find  a source  of  prime  importance, 
Boccaccio's  "Filostrato"  derived  from  Benoit  and  Guido.  Troilus  is  the 
principal  personage,  sentimental  ana  passionate.  Griseida,  a young  widow 
of  considerable  experience,  corrupt  in  character,  is  very  coquettish. 

Panuarus  is  presented  as  a young  ana  sprightly  Florentine  gentle- 
man, an  intimate  companion  of  Troilus  ana  a cousin  to  Griseioa.  He  is  the 
gay  go-between  of  whose  benavior  the  narrator  cordially  approves. 

It  has  been  accepted  that  the  "Filostrato"  is  the  account  chief- 
ly followed  in  Chaucer's  "Troilus  and  Ciiseyde".  Chaucer  introduces 
many  new  elements,  though,  and  shifts  the  interest  from  Troilus  to  Cris- 
eyde. He,  moreover,  employs  many  classical  allusions,  invocations,  and 
much  astrology.  Throughout  the  poem  are  philosophical  ideas  of  Boethius 
in  regard  to  love,  to  mutability  in  fortune,  ana  to  predestination,  ce- 


. 


sides  frequent  proverbs  and  admonitions  such  as  aoound  in  the  "Roman 
de  la  Rose".  For  the  historical  background  it  seems  that  Chaucer  drew 
from  the  works  of  Joseph  of  Exeter , Guido  delle  Colonne,  and  ^enolt. 
Proxessor  Kittredge  contends  that  Chaus er  seems  to  have  believed  t.^at 

a Lollius  wrote  on  the  Trojan  war  for  he  refers  to  Lollius  as  his  author- 

/ 

ity. 

With  these  borrowed  passages  and  original  ones  Chauser  develops 
a pure  comedy,  not  unmix9d  with  irony.  He,  enjoying  human  life  in  all 
its  changes, sympathizes  (^with  his  personages.  Troilus  is  mighty  in  anus 
but  has  little  experience  of  men  or  of  comuct.  Ee  takes  a beautiful  but 
''complex'1  woman  for  an  angel  of  heaven.  lacking  strong  volition  he  can- 
not master  nis  fate.  Pandarus,  a midale-agea  buayooay,  unsuccessful  in 
his  own  loves,  undertakes  to  manage  the  love  of  Troilus  ana  Criseyde. 
Criseyde,  whose  softness  of  affection  is  the  secret  of  her  enduring  charm, 
is  the  principal  character.  The  complexity  of  her  double  nature  holds 
our  interest.  The  woes  of  Troilus  Chaucer  elaoorates;  but  he  snows  re- 
luctance at  narrating  the  faithlessness  of  Criseyde. 

An  abstract  of  such  a poem,  though  inadequate  to  represent  its 
real  nature,  will  be  useful  for  our  discussion  of  its  unity,  coherence, 
and  proportion. 

(Book  I)  At  the  very  beginning  Chaucer  announces  his  theme.  He 
is  to  tell  the  double  sorrow  of  Troilus  in  loving  Criseyde,  who  is  at 
last  unfaithful.  Calchas,  the  great  diviner,  foreknowing  tne  destruc- 
tion of  Troy,  flees  to  the  Greeks,  and  leaves  in  Troy  his  oeautiful 
daughter,  Criseyde,  a young  widow.  During  tne  Trojan  celebration  of 
Ihlladion's  feast,  the  King's  son,  Troilus,  a professed  woman-hater,  sees 


(l)  Kittredge,  Chaucer  and  His  Poetry  Ch.  IV, 


-38- 


Criseyde.  At  once  he  is  smitten  with  love.  He  retires  to  his  own  cham- 
ber in  shame  and  love-sicxness.  There  his  friend  Parmarus,  an  uncle  of 
oriseyde,  finds  aim  and  plans  to  he  a go-between  in  Troilus'  love  scenes. 

(Book  II)  On  a lair  May  morning  Panuarus  visits  Cnseyde  to  tell 
her  of  Troilus’  love  and  distress  ana  to  pleaa  that  sne  show  a little 
pity.  As  she  is  sitting  oy  her  window,  alter  her  uncle  leaves,  she  nears 
men  crying  in  the  street  that  Troilus  has  put  the  Greeks  to  flight.  She 
looks  out  ana  beholds  her  new  lover,  armed  all  but  his  head,  riaing  a 
wounded  steed.  Through  ner  mind  passes  thoughts  of  his  prowess,  his 
estate,  his  renown,  his  wit,  his  poise,  and  his  gentleness.  After  this 
she  goes  to  play  with  her  nieces  in  her  garden  where  a passionate  ballad 
sung  by  Antigone,  her  niece,  sets  her  dreaming  of  love.  later  at  night, 
when  she  is  in  bed  thinking  of  Troilus,  she  nas  love  brought  to  her  in 
the  trills  of  the  nightingale,  warding  in  the  moonlight  on  a green 
cedar  below  her  window.  She  falls  asleep  ana  dreams  that  an  eagle  digs 
its  long  claws  into  her  breast  and  witnout  causing  her  any  pain,  removes 
her  heart  and  places  his  in  its  place.  Troilus,  urged  by  Pandarus,  writes 
a letter  to  Criseyde  Which  Pandarus  bears  the  next  morning  to  the  lady. 
Persuaded  more  by  her  own  temperament  than  by  Panaarus*  entreaties, 
Criseyde  replies.  Then  Pandarus  goes  to  Troilus’  most  beloved,  brother 
and  has  him  invite  Criseyde  to  ainner. 

(Book  III)  After  the  dinner  Criseyde  is  Drought  by  her  uncle  to 
the  bedside  of  Troilus  vmo  is  pretending  exhaustion  from  love.  Criseyde 
kisses  the  youth  ana  takes  him  into  her  service.  Soon  after  this  meet- 
ing Pandarus  asks  driseyde  and  her  attendants  to  supper  declaring  that 
Troilus  is  away.  The  rain  and  thunaer  make  it  impossible  for  the  guests 
to  leave  and  so  Pandarus  gives  the  attendants  a corner  room  and  Cr  iseyde 


. 


, 

' 

( 

* 


. 


■ 

■ 


. 

. 

. 


. - 


-38- 


a little  room  for  the  night.  later  in  the  evening  Panoarus  enters  her 
room  through  a trap-door  ana.  describes  to  her  the  unexpected  arrival  of 
her  knight,  and  his  pitiful  condition  and  despair.  He  says  that  Troilus, 
now  torn  with  jealousy,  ana  thinking  of  a rival  receiving  her  afiection, 
will  die  if  he  is  not  comforted  "by  her.  Thereupon,  the  niece  moved 
with  pity  consents  to  receive  her  lover.  (1)  When  Troilus  sees  that 
his  feigned  jealousy  orings  tears  to  his  lady's  eyes,  he  is  so  over- 
come that  he  falls  into  a swoon.  Eandarus  ras  to  restore  him.  To  urge 
him  on  he  gives  him  further  advice.  When  his  plot  appears  successful, 
he  withdraws  to  the  fireside  with  his  hooks  of  romances,  hut  even  after 
nis  departure  something  of  nis  ribaldry  remains  with  this  scene.  His 
humor,  "grinning  ana  capering",  modifies  tne  lovers'  sentiment. 

(Book  IV)  When  Galenas  askes  that  Antenor  oe  given  in  exchange 
for  Criseyde,  Troilus  is  present  in  the  parliament  hut  says  not  a v/ord 
lest  men  espy  his  love.  The  Trojans  accept  the  offer.  Pamarus 
arranges  another  interview  for  Troilus  and  Criseyde  before  tne  latter 
goes  to  the  Greek  camp.  Criseyde  promises  her  lover  that  she  \vill  es- 
cape from  the  Greeks  and  return  to  Troy  in  ten  day3.  Troilus  urges 
elopement,  hut  Criseyde,  fearing  disgrace,  objects.  The  next  morning 
Troilus  leaves  ner  chamber,  and  sue  goes  from  Troy. 

(Book  V)  Criseyde  is  escorted  to  the  Greeks  by  Diomede  who 
pleads  his  love.  He  does  not  "lose  his  heart  but  merely  improves  a 
good  opportunity"  to  win  her  love.  By  the  tenth  day  he  nas  succeeded 
in  pressing  his  suit.  Criseyde  gives  him  a steed  and  a brooch  that 
she  had  received  from  Troilus,  and  bids  him  wear  ner  token.  Greatly 

(1)  Professor  Cummings  opposes,  and  Professor  Lowes  defends  the  opinion 
that  Cnaucer  borrowed. this  secret  meeting  oi  the  lovers  from  Boccaccio 's 
"Filocolo". 


-40- 


does  s he  lament  her  falseness  to  Troilus.  Panda r us  once  more  comfofct- 
ing  Troilus  tells  him  to  write  his  sorrow  tc  his  lady.  Criseyde  replies 
that  she  is  going  to  return  to  him.  In  the  meanwhile,  oas sandra  inter- 
prets a dream  of  Troilus  as  showing  that  Criseyde  iias  given  Diomede 
her  love.  Troilus  refuses  to  believe  the  interpretation  and  continues 
to  write  to  his  lady.  She  replies  feebly  and  finally  breaks  off  the 
correspondence.  Even,  when  the  fatal  truth  is  revealed  to  him  by  the 
brooch  upon  the  coat,  reft  by  Deiphebus  from  Diomede,  he  cannot  r®braid 
her  faitiilessness . Diomede  and  Troilus  meet  often  on  the  field  yet 
neither  slays  the  other.  Finally  Troilus  wreaks  vengeance  on  the  Greeks, 
and  before  he  falls  by  the  sword  of  Achilles  he  sighs, 

" Criseyde,  swete  may, 

VThom  I have  ay  with  al  my  mighty  served. 

That  ye  thus  doon,  I have  it  nought  deserved. 11 

The  poem  consists  of  1 -fifty  scenes  bound  into  a dramatic  unity.7' 

It  is  Criseyde  that  remains  from  the  beginning  to  the  close  the  center 
of  the  unbroken  interest.  Through  the  eyes  of  Troilus  she  is  first 
presented  to  us.  Then  Panoarus  becomes  active  in  producing  episodes 
for  the  development  of  the  theme.  She  is  not  a mere  victim  of  the 
machinations  of  her  uncle.  Her  own  temperament,  not  Pandarus*  intrigues, 
persuades  ner  to  yield  to  the  love  of  Troilus.  Alter  she  knows  the 
secret  of  Troilus*  passion,  it  is  the  tenderness  of  the  mediaeval  lady 
of  romance  that  dissipates  her  reserve.  She  is  never  more  sentimental, 
sweeter,  or  more  romantic  than  she  is  when  she  listens  tc  the  nightin- 
gale in  the  cedar  tree.  In  ner  first  actual  interview  with  Troilus 
feigning  illness  in  the  nouse  of  Deiphebus,  she  is  irresistibly  drawn 


I 

. 


. 


. 


-41- 


to  her  knight.  The  ieara  and  qualms  that  she  expeiiences,  the  rainy 
night  in  Panoarus  1 home,  are  due  to  the "psychological  trepidations  of 
her  heartw in  the  presence  of  intense  erotic  emotion.  When  the  impend- 
ing aooru  of  Troy  brings  about  the  separation  of  the  lovers  it  does  not 
surprise  us  to  see  her  in  her  deep  gri9x , and  .her  swoon,  hut  for  Troilus 
she  refrains  from  showing  her  grief  during  their  last  visit  together. 
Alter  days  of  waiting,  oodurate  refusals  of  Calchas,  and  persistent 
approaches  of  Diomede,  Criseyde  relies  too  much  on  ner  three  former 
strong  qualities,nher  skill  in  repartee,  her  simulation,  ana  her  ena tar- 
ing love  for  Troilus.11  Diomeae  tells  her  it  is  useless  to  grieve  for  a 
Trojan  for  they  will  he  inevitaoly  destroyed.  She  can  see  for  herself 
that  the  folk  of  Troy  are  in  prison.  Criseyde  is  impressionable  and 
weak.  She,  at  last,  succumbs  to  the  stress  of  circumstance  and,  more- 
over, to  her  own  lack  of  faith  in  the  ultimate  nappy  issue  of  events. 

Her  sc  ul;/ undergoes  a change  but  net  a deteriorate ion^  Thus  the  two  fac- 
tors, Pandarus'  intrigues,  and  the  doom  of  Troy,  are  used  to  reveal  the 
loveliness  and  weakness  of  Criseyde.  Her  strength  of  will  is  no  natch 
for  her  inconstant  heart.  This  delineation  of  the  character  of 
Criseyde  hinds  all  the  scenes  together.  Twenty-three  out  of  the  fifty 
scenes  appear  with  her  as  the  Chief  character.  The  other  twenty-seven 
are  of  her  and  in  exhibition  of  her.  Chaucer  has  pictured  her  in  all 
of  her  emotional  moons  from  thewfirst  dawn  of  her  passion  for  Troilus, 
on  through  her  days  of  happiness,  into  her  pitiful  misery  and  her  fall" 
Each  scene  is  in  its  proper  sequence  and  is  firmly  knit  with 
the  past  and  future  of  the  story.  Ihch  scene  is  in  its  own  place  and 
with  one  exception,  each  has  its  own  special  fitness,  and  its  own  in- 
evitable function.  There  is  one  passage  (hook  IV  947-1085)  on  fore- 


-42- 


knowledge  ana  freedom  of  the  will  wnich  pernaps  is  inartistic,  hut  is 
not  a digression.  The  sequence  of  the  scenes  is  arranges,  of  course, 
for  the  purpose  of  introducing  ana  revealing  characters.  The  persons 
that  take  part  are  fourteen,  six  women  ana  eight  men.  Of  tnese  four- 
teen, four  carry  on  the  real  movement  of  the  action.  And  of  the  four 
principal  characters,  Criseyde  is  the  first  to  he  brought  before  the 
reader,  then  Troilus,  then  Pandarus,  aru,  at  last,  in  the  thirty-ninth 
scene,  Diomede.  As  Troilus 1 hopes  sink;  Diomede's  hopes  rise.  These 
fifty  scenes  having  astonishing  variety  of  personal  feelings  are  con- 
nected hy  lini:-pas sages  of  dramatic  skill.  Some,  like  tne  transitory 
Joy  (hook  III,  813-33)  and  the  adversity  following  prosperity  (hook 
III,  1625-29),  are  rex  lections  on  tne  story.  Others  are  narratives  or 
descriptions,  which  are  necessary  for  the  understanding  of  the  plot. 

In  order  to  reveal  character  Chaucer  lias  arranged  the  scenes  according 
to  the  cause  ana  efiect  of  motives  and  emotions.  The  unveiling  of  nis 
characters  tnus  produces  no  snock  to  the  reader.  Following  the  scene 
of  tne  opening  action  in  the  temple,  Panoarus  keeps  first  Criseyie  and 
then  Troilus  advised.  The  impending  doom  of  Troy  separates  them.  Then 
comes  the  days  of  waiting  full  of  sorrow  for  both  the  lovers.  Until  the 
separation  tnere  is  little  development  of  character  in  either  the  nero 
or  the  heroine.  The  former  is  all  the  devotion  of  a faitnful  servant 
in  the  Court  of  Love,  and  all  the  dignity  of  the  conventional  lover. 

The  latter,  the  blithe  lauy  of  romance,  becomes  a branded  woman.  In 
aue  sequence  tnese  fifty  scenes  form  all  tne  five  parts  of  tne  dramatic 
scneme  which  we  may  next  consider. 

Chaucer  plans  his  plot  with  absolute  symmetry  of  proportion. 

The  first  part  of  the  poem  leads  up  to  the  complete  union  of  the  lovers 


* 


' 


* 


-43- 


and  the  seconu  part  describes  the  fast  ensuing  separation.  The  former 
contains  4543  lines  ana  the  latter  3514  lines.  Cnaucer  nas  tnus  shii  t- 
ed  his  emphasis  from  that  of  Boccaccio.  By  the  elaboration  of  the  first 
part,  the  dramatic  center  of  the  story,  which  in  the  "Filostrato"  comes 
before  tne  iniu.aie  of  the  poem,  is  thrown  by  Chaucer  into  the  second  half. 
Boccaccio,  tne  sentimentalist,  elaborates  the  pathetic  scenes  of  tne 
falling  action;  Chaucer,  tne  humorist,  centers  his  interest  in  tne 
subtle  interplay  of  motive,  the  complication  of  the  plot,  ana  above  all 
the  psychological  problem  of  Criseyde's  character.  Tne  part  o,  the 
poem  given  tc  minute  revelation  of  motive  ana  temperament  of  the  cnarac- 
ters  is  extended  through  thirty-seven  of  the  scenes.  Chaucer  has  wise- 
ly used  the  forms  of  discourse  best  adapted  to  this  purpiose.  He  has  em- 
ployed the  dialogue,  the  monologue,  the  group  »eenes,  and  the  trio 
scenes.  This  order  not3s  the  most  frequent  use  of  the  first,  then  the 
second  and  the  thirl.  The  last  is  rarely  used.  The  climax  is  given 
in  a single  scene.  Only  twelve  scenes  are  devoted  to  the  result  of  tne 
climax  which  is  the  developing  of  the  moral  degradation  of  Criseyde 
under  the  influence  of  Diomede‘s  passion.  Chaucer,  in  order  to  give 
fuller  space  to  his  psycnological  details  in  the  study  of  character, 
pushes  his  climax  scene  (book  IV,  1128-1701)  from  the  center  of  compo- 
sition to  a point  much  nearer  the  end.  It  is  preceded  by  5,  797  verses 
am  followed  by  1,869.  The  protasis  of  the  drama  contains  266  lines  in 
which  Troilus  and  Criseyde  are  introduced.  There  are  5,486  verses  de- 
voted to  the  epitasis,  beginning  with  the  scene  in  the  temple  where  the 
action  opens,  and  extending  to  the  climax.  In  619  lines  there  is  the 
climax  ani  the  complete  solution  of  the  dramatic  problem.  Here  there  is 
the  triumph  of  worldly  prudence  and  of  conventional  scruples  over  the 


. 


. - 


» 


' 


■ 


■ 


■ 


-44- 


ardor  of  passion  and  the  glory  of  self-sacrifice.  As  a result  of  the 
climax,  comes  the  sedition  of  Onseyde  hy  Diomede  and  the  death  of 
Troilus;  contained  in  the  next  1,820  lines.  The  last  fifty  lines, 
the  closing  stage  of  the  action,  give  the  'beautiful  scene  in  which  the 
soul  of  Troilus,  taken  from  earth  into  paradise,  looks  down  -with 
scorn  upon  the  "baseness  of  earthly  life.  ^ 


(1)  For  the  plot  structure  I have  been  inae.jtea  .0  Professor  Fiic^, 
P.M.L.a.  > Vol.  Iv. , pp. 307-322. 


* 


. 


-45- 


Chapter  III 

"The  Flan  of  the  'Canterbury  Tales  1 * 

Chaucer's  Eastern  predecessors  furnished  him  many  models  of 
stories  in  "framework".  The  most  conspicuous  examples  are  the  "Fables 
of  Bidpai",  the  "Seven  Wise  Asters"  or  "Seven  Sages",  ana  the  "Dis- 
ciplina  Clericalis".  In  the  first  is  told  the  story  of  a certain  king 
of  Inaia  who,  having  been  liberal  to  a hermit,  is  rewarded  by  a treas- 
ure in  which  is  a piece  of  silk  bearing  mystic  characters.  This  in- 
scription reveals  that  another  treasure  lor  him  is  hidden  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Ceylon.  Thither  he  hastens  and  meets  the  sage  Bidpai  who 
narrates  to  him  a series  of  tales  which  constitute  the  treasure  ana.  the 
book.  In  many  of  these  stories  are  animals  as  personages.  A more 
complex  and  more  widely  circulated  mediaeval  work  is  the  second  one, 
the  "Seven  Wise  masters".  An  initial  narrative  relating  the  danger 
of  a king's  son  at  a certain  age  unless  he  would  maintain  complete 
silence,  furnishes  the  framework  of  the  series  of  stories  that  are  pro- 
longed in  their  telling  by  the  wise  men  until  the  hour  oi  the  son's 
destiny  is  passed.  This  "framework"  lias  more  plot  than  that  o:  the 
"Fables".  The  third  story,  the  "Disciplina  Clericalis",  is  another 
series  of  aidactic  narratives  given  by  a father  to  his  son. 

The  "Arabian  Nights",  which  reached  England  after  Chaucer's  'day, 
differs  from  the  "Fables"  ana  the  "Seven  Wise  Masters"  in  the  fact  that 
the  collection  is  made  for  the  purpose  of  amusement.  It  may  have  fur- 
nished a precedent  for  Boccaccio,  who  is  not  attempting  a moral  improve- 
ment of  his  readers  in  his  "Decameron".  In  many  respects  Boccaccio 
surpasses  his  Eastern  predecessors.  His  work  has  not  something  im- 
probable or  extravagant  in  the  invention  of  the  circumstances  v/nich  give 


. 


. 


. 


. 


. 


. 


. 


. 


' 


' 


-46' 


occasion  to  nis  several  stories.  On  the  contrary  there  is  a sense  of 
reality  over  "both  tne  initial  story  ana  the  following  ones.  Ten  youpg 
people,  seven  women  ana  tnree  men,  flee  from  Florence  to  escape  the 
danger  of  a pestilence;  and  pass  ten  clays  in  a ‘beautiful  garden.  While 
the  plague  rages  in  the  city,  they  amuse  themselves  at  the  country 
villa  by  telling  stories.  Each  cay  a chosen  reader  announces  the  sub- 
ject lor  the  day  and  calls  upon  each  member  to  tell  a tale. 

Thus  far  no  uncontraiicted  evidence  lias  been  given  to  show  that 
Chaucer  is  indebted  to  Boccaccio's  ’’Decameron"  for  his  "framework".  The 
"Canterbury  Tales"  lias  raa ny  resemblances  and  yet  the  fundamental  fic- 
tion is  different,  hoccaccio's  ten  narrators,  all  of  high  social  stand- 
ing, are  assembled  in  a garden;  Chaucer's  motley  company  of  pilgrims 
are  riding  on  horseback  to  Canterbury,  both  have  the  atmosphere  of 
out-of-doors. 

.Another  group  of  stories  with  which  uhaucer  vms  prooaoly  ac- 
quainted is  Gower’s  "Concessio  Amantis".  This  contains  a prologue  and 
eignt  books  in  which  a priest  admonishes  a lever  ana  narrates  stories 
to  emphasizs  his  monitions. 

Recently  Professor  Young  nas  noted  several  similarities  between 
Chaucer’s  plan  of  the  "Canteroury  Tales"  and  Sercambi's  "Novelie".  The 
"framework"  of  the  latter  is  composed  of  a collection  of  stories  re- 
counted on  a pilgrimage.  A number  of  men  and  women  from  different  Talks 
of  life  decide  to  leave  Lucca  during  the  pestilence.  They  accordingly 
meet  in  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  to  receive  communion.  Upon  the 
suggestion  of  a prominent  citizen,  Aluisi,  that  they  choose  one  from  the 
group  to  whom  they  can  pay  reverence  and  obedience,  who  will  control 
their  pleasures,  plan  the  itinerary,  ana  lead  them  on  the  long  joumsy. 


' 


-47- 

the  groqp  immediately  elects  Aluisi  as  the  leader.  They  acquiesce  in 
his  request  for  mon~y  ana  at  once  raise  a purse  of  three  thousand  florins 
for  expenses  and  promise  to  give  more  if  they  have  need  of  a larger  &- 
mount.  A treasurer  and  a steward  are  appointed  by  the  leader;  and  the 
daily  observances  of' the  offices  of  the  church  and  daily  amusements  of 
songs  and  discourses  are  planned  by  Aluisi.  Sercamui  is  to  be  the  official 
story  teller.  They  visit  nearly  a hundred  towns  in  going  around  the 
southern  part  of  Italy  and  northward  along  the  east  coast,  ana  back  again 
to  Lucca.  In  some  cities  they  linger  a night,  in  otxxer  citieo,  several 
nights.  They  travel  on  foot,  the  most  of  the  way,  but  by  water  in  the 
vicinity  of  Venice,  and  perhaps  in  wagons  from  Ferrara  to  Fr&ncolino. 

The  story  telling  takes  place  on  the  road  or  in  inn  yards  or  gardens  of 
the  towns.  The  local  color  appears  in  the  stories;  for  example,  at 
Rome  the  stories  are  of  the  Roman  history;  around  Venice,  they  are  of 
Venetian  subjects;  and  on  the  way  to  Verona,  the  tales  are  of  Veronese 
life. 

In  comparing  the  "Hovelle"  and  the  "Canterbury  Tales"  Professor 
Young  finds  the  following  five  similar  features.  The  group  of  pilgrims 
in  each,  a happy  miscellaneous  company,  foregather  in  a church  or  an 
inn.  The  second  similarity  is  the  leader.  Each  is  appointed  by  the 
pilgrims  and  has  many  like  activities.  Harry  Hailey,  having  ofiered 
his  service  to  the  Canterbury  pilgrims,  is  accepted  as  their  leader; 

Aluisi,  having  suggested  that  a leader  be  chosen,  is  elected  for  that 
office.  In  calling  their  speakers  they  frequently  mention  the  towns 
that  they  pass,  for  example,  Harry  Bailey  says, 

"Sey  forth  thy  tale,  and  tarie  nat  the  tyme, 

Lo  Depiord.'  and  it  is  half-way  pryme. 


. 

. 

. 

- 

. 


-46- 


and 


Lo  Grenewich,  ther  laany  a shrewe  is  mine;  " 


"Lo.'  Eouchestre  stant  hear  faste  ‘by.1" 

They  both  comment  occasionally  upon  the  tales,  adding  a human  touch 
to  the  pilgrimage.  The  third  point  of  similarity  is  the  activities  of 
the  pilgrims  on  the  journey.  Chaucer's  "links"  give  the  clash  of  per- 
sonality in  vital  and.  inevitable  humor;  Sercainbi's  "intermezzo"  pro- 
vides only  a lifeless  parallel.  The  fourth  mark  of  resemblance  is  the 
application  of  the  tales  to  the  pilgrims.  One  of  the  many  examples  of 
this  is  the  remark  o;  the  most  at  the  end  of  the  Physician's  Tale, 

"This  was  a fals  cnerl  and  a fals  justyse.' 

As  shamful  deeth  as  xierte  may  devyse 
Come  to  thise  juges  ana  hir  aavocats.' " 

The  fifth  point  is  the  similarity  of  the  narrators.  In  the  "ITovelle" 
the  author  tells  all  the  stories,  out  rrany  members  of  the  group  give 
ether  recitations  when  they  are  called  upon  by  the  leader.  In  Chaucer's 
■,vork  the  pilgrims  recount  the  stories.  Thus  the  "framework"  of  the 
"Canterbury  Tales"  has  resemblances  in  that  of  the  "ITovelle ". 

It  seems  that  the  English  poet  las  set  aside  his  "Legend  of  Good 
Women"  which  is  less  vivid  and  less  varied  than  his  above  mentioned 
poem  in  order  to  write  a greater  story  in  "framework".  He  has  chosen  a 
pilgrimage  as  his  scene.  Having  lived  in  London  and  Greenwich,  he, 
no  doubt,  had  seen  many  pilgrims  setting  out  on  a pilgrimage.  His  fre- 
quent trips  to  the  continent  had  acquainted  him  with  roads  over  which 
they  vended  their  way.  The  night  before  they  start  on  their  visit  to 
the  shrine  of  Thomas  a Lecket,  the  thirty  pilgrims  including  Chaucer 
meet  at  the  Tabard  Inn  in  Southwark.  This  varied  class,  meeting  as 


-49- 


equals,  is  nade  -up  of  a Enight , a Squire,  a Yeoman,  a Prioress,  a Run 
(the  Prioress'  ' chap  le  yne  '),'  with  her  three  priests,  a honk,  a Friar, 
a Merchant,  a clerk  of  Oxford,  a Man  of  lew,  a Franklin,  a Kaberdasli- 
er,  a Carpenter,  a Weaver,  a Dyer,  an  Upholsterer,  a Cook,  a Shipman, 
a Doctor,  a Wife  of  Bath,  a Parson,  a Plowman,  a Miller,  a Manciple, 
a Reeve,  a Summoner,  and  a Pardoner.  Upon  the  suggestion  of  the  Host, 
Barry  Bliley,  tney  ail  agree  to  tell  each  two  tales  going  and  two  com- 
ing in  order  to  enliven  the  journey.  This  plan  would  make  one  hundred 
and  twenty  tales  besides  the  tales  by  the  additional  member,  the  Canon's 
Yeoman.  The  infernal  remarks  by  the  pilgrims,  the  host,  and  Chaucer 
would  form  the  links.  During  their  journey  of  three  days  ana  a half 
numerous  comments  on  the  stories,  roads,  and  amusements  of  the  night 
would  naturally  take  place. 

The  original  plan  was  evidently  modified,  for  we  have  ten  "frag- 
ments" containing  in  all  tv/enty-four  tales.  Of  these,  twenty-one  are 
complete,  and  the  Tale  of  the  Cook  and  of  the  Squire  and  "Sir  Taopas" 
are  incomplete.  Out  of  the  thirty  pilgrims,  who  leave  Soufcu.ark,  only 
twenty-one  toll  stories,  for  Chaucer  tells  two  and  the  Canon's  Yeoman, 
who  joins  them  at  BOghton  under  Blee,  tells  one. 

The  spirit  of  travel  and  of  holiday  unifies  the  "Canterbury  Ikies", 
in  April  prelude  in  the  Prologue  breathes  the  springtime  atmosphere 
which  is  sustained  and  felt  not  only  in  the  merry  descriptions  of  the 
types  and  the  individual  pilgrims  but  also  in  the  tales  they  tell. 

The  pilgrimage  is  provided  with  a Host  who  is  an  excellent  one  to  pre- 
serve unity  among  the  story  tellers,  • He  is  large,  handsome,  jovial, 
and  fears  nooody.  His  tact  and  discretion  help  him  in  the  most  serious 
social  difficulties.  Being  the  keeper  of  an  inn,  he  is  well  acquainted 


-5Q- 


with  all  classes  of  men.  He  Holds  himself  neither  above  i.or  below 
their  morals.  Once  in  the  course  of  the  journey  his  own  swearing 
brings  upon  him  the  reproof  of  the  Parson,  Nevertheless,  he  clearly 
discerns  the  inconsistency  between  the  religious  profession  and  the 
practice  of  the  Monk.  With  his ‘quick  wit  and  tolerably  vide  sympathies 
he  is  an  interested  listener  to  the  numerous  stones  different  in  sub- 
ject and  in  key.  When  he  sees  that  tne  sto.ies  are  too  tedious  for 
his  company,  he  interrupts,  for  example,  he  expresses  his  weariness  at 
the  end  of  Chaucer's  "Sir  Thopas".  He  ices  not  hesitate  to  admonish  the 
Clerk  to  tell  a tale  that  will  not  make  them  go  to  sleep.  At  times 
he  feels  it  is  duty  to  reprove  the  drunken  Miller  and  to  avert  a 
quarrel  between  the  Friar  and  the  Summoner.  Again  the  Host  rides  about 
forcing  his  hearty  and  sometimes  boisterous  ranner  to  irritate  some 
pilgrim  into  revolt,  for  each  nas  agreeu.  that  tne  one  who  revolts  is  to 
pay  the  entire  expenses  of  the  pilgrimage.  The  Host  does  not  always 
control  affairs.  There  are  occasional  comments  by  the  pilgrims  concern- 
ing the  stories  ana  quarrels.  These  give  rise  to  new  groups  of  tales 
not  anticipated  by  the  Host.  Then  the  arrival  of  the  Canon's  Yeoman 
furnishes  a motive  for  a story.  Thus  the  Host,  a "dynamic  agent"  and 
the  life  ana  spontaneous  humor  of  the  pilgrims  link  the  stories  into 
a definite  unity. 

The  coherence  and  incoherence  of  the  "Canterbury  Tales"  are 
brought  about  by  varied  devices.  In  the  Prologue  the  arrangement  of 
the  description  is  determined  by  no  fixed  principle.  Chaucer  merely 
employe  his  material  so  as  to  best  portray  the  personal  appearance  of 
the  pilgrims  including  the  striking  and  representative  details  of 
drs«e,  equipment,  and  bearing;  and  the  inner  character  of  each. 


51- 


After  the  reader  haB  been  introduced  to  the  characters  ana  has  been 
informed  concerning  the  plans  cf  the  pilgrimage,  the  scene  corues  to  a 
close  ■until  morning.  Then  the  company  ride  forth  to  the  watering  of  St. 
Thomas  and  the  Knight  chosen  by  lot  is  to  tell  the  first  story.  Thus 
the  Prologue  passes  directly  into  the  Knight's  Tale.  The  "fragments" 
that  follow  are  not  connected  into  a coherent  whole.  The  different 
manuscripts  arrange  them  in  different  ways.  It  is  thought  that  Chaucer 
had  made  more  than  one  tentative  arrangement  or  that  he  never  deciaed 
upon  any  arrangement.  Editors  nave  settled  the  matter  accoruing  to 
indications  of  time  and  place.  The  present  preference  is  for  A C B ^ 

B ^ D E F G H This  would  group  in  A:  the  Tales  of  the  Knight, 

The  Miller,  the  Beeve,  ana  the  Cook;  in  C:  the  tales  of  the  Physician 

and  the  Pardoner;  in  the  tales  of  the  Shipman,  the  Prioress, 

Sir  Thopas,  Melibeus,  the  Monk,  and  the  Nun's  Priest;  in  D:  the  tales 

of  the  Wife  of  hath,  the  Friar,  and  the  Summoner;  in  E:  the  tales  of 

the  Clerk  ana  the  Merchant;  in  F:  the  tales  of  the  Squire,  and  the 
Franklin;  in  G:  the  tales  of  the  Second  Nun  and  the  Canon's  Yeoman; 
in  H:  the  tale  of  the  Manciple;  and  in  I:  the  tale  of  the  Parson,  be- 
tween the  Knight's  tale  and  the  Parson's  tale  there  are  eight  gaps. 

The  links  wnich  do  exist  are  of  two  kinds,  headlink  and  end link.  The 
former  prepares  one  for  the  following  scory,  ana  the  latter  contains  a 
comment  on  the  story  preceding.  A single  link  sometimes  fulfils  both 
these  functions.  The  links  are  responsible  for  these  groups:  the 
Knight  and  the  Miller,  the  Miller  and  the  Beeve,  the  Beeve  and  the  Cook, 
the  Shipman  and  the  Prioress,  the  Prioress  and  Thopas,  Thopas  and 
Melibeus,  Melibeus  and  the  Monk,  the  Monk  ana  the  Nun's  Priest,  the 


U)  Wells,  "A  Manual  of  the  Writings  of  Middle  English",  p.679 


. 

. 

‘ 

1 

- ’ 

• 

• 

• 

, 

• 

-52- 


the  Pnysician  and  the  Pardoner,  the  Wife  of  Bath  and  the  Friar,  the 
Friar  ana  the  Sumoner,  the  Clerk  ana  the  Merchant,  the  Squire  and 
the  Franklin,  and  the  Second  Nun  and  the  Canon’s  Yeoman.  Each  of  the 
following  have  only  a headlink:  the  J&n  of  lew,  the  Squire,  the  Clerk, 
and  the  I&inciple.  These  i^ave  no  headlink:  the  Doctor,  the  Wife  of 
Bath,  and  the  Second  Nun;  these  have  no  enalink:  the  Cook,  the  Paraon- 
er,  the  Summoner,  and  the  franklin.  Some  of  the  manuscripts  have  an 
endlirk  for  the  Nun’s  Priest,  and  an  epilogue  for  the  1-Iercnant  and  the 
Pardoner.  The  em.link  of  the  iv2an  of  law  is  usually  known  as  the  Ship- 
man's Prologue.  Setting  asiae  the  disputed  question  of  oraer  we  may 
see  that  the  separate  stories  are  groped  according  to  motifs.  The 
nature  and  the  content  of  some  sections  of  the  tales  are  aue  to  tne 
interplay  of  the  personalities,  the  views,  and  the  conduct  of  the 
pilgrims  reacting  on  one  ar.otner.  We  cannot  determine  or  need  not  de- 
termine whether  tne  interplay  of  personalities  drought  about  the  motifs 
or  the  latter  produced  the  former.  Only  one  of  the  outstanding  motifs 
we  may  consider  now  and  omit  the  others  until  we  take  up  the  different 
stories. 

.Recently  ah  interesting  basis  of  union ^ for  several  of  the 
tales  has  been  observed  by  Professor  Kittreage  and  Professor  Iawrence. 
They  both  have  taken  for  the  nexus  of  tneir  proposed  group  a debate  as 
to  which  of  two,  the  husband  or  the  wife,  should  have  the  mastery. 

But  Professor  Iawrence  traces  the  beginning  of  the  "ferriage  Group" 
much  farther  back  in  the  "Canterbury  Tales"  tnan  Professor  Kit tr edge 
does.  The  former  introduces  a prelude  to  tne  aebate  which  involves 

(l)  Cf . Hinckley:  P.H.L.A.  Vol.25  pp. 292-305.  The  view  is  mere  opposed. 


. 

, 


. 


. 


-53- 


the  "Melibeus ",  the  "Monk's  Tale",,  and  the  "Nun's  Priest's  Tale".  The 
remarks  of  the  "Melibeus"  on  the  theme  of  conjugal  sovereignty  specify 
that  the  wife  prevails  upon  the  husband  to  give  her  control  in  domestic 
affairs.  Immediately  the  Host  is  reminded  of  a personal  example  and 
he  tells  of  his  experience  with  his  shrewish  wife.  This  is  followed 
by  the  Monk's  trageaies  of  Virginia.  Since  the  Monk  neglects  to  take 
the  "implied  challenge"  of  tne  cost,  tne  Nun's  Priest  accepts  it  in 
his  tale  when  he  narrates  the  tragedy  oi  the  husband  due  to  the  wife's 
counsel.  At  this  point  of  tne  preliminary  discussion  of  marriage 
sovereignty.  Professor  Kittredge's  "Marriage  Group"  begins,^  And  so 
we  may  now  continue  with  his  possible  theory. 

The  Wife  of  Hath  in  her  Prologue  ana  Tare  takes  a "fling"  at  the 
clerk  when  she  emphatically  asserts  that  women  should  have  sovereignty 
over  their  husbands.  While  the  Priar  ana  the  Suramoner  engage  in  a 
comic  quarrel, the  Clerk  is  wrapped  in  serious  thought.  The  renearsing 
of  the  Wife  of  Path's  tribulations  in  marriage  which  were  not  assuaged 
in  the  least  by  her  fifth  husband  a cleric,  have  insulted  the  clerk. 

Ann  the  longer  he  waits  to  defend  his  class,  the  more  incensed  he 
becomes.  The  quarrel  ended,  the  Clerk  tactfully  rebukes  the  Wife's 
conduct  and  her  views  witn  the  story  of  Gnselda’s  humble  and  submissive 
life  in  her  home.  All  the  irony  that  he  can  apply,  he  weaves  into  his 
plea  that  wives  should  rule  their  nusbands  and  make  tnem  miserable.  The 
ball  begins  to  roll,  before  it  stops,  the  Merchant  takes  a hanu.  With 
stinging  irony  he  utters  views  which  are  antithetical  to  mose  of  the 
Wife  of  hath.  Having  been  called  on  to  say  something  of  love  tne 
Squire  begins  his  tale  of  pure  romance  but  does  not  finish  it.  Just 


(l)  Kittredge:  chancer  ana  His  Poetry  pp.  185  ff. 


. 

. 

. 

• 

. 

. 

. 

, 

• 

. 

• 

-54- 


what  would  nave  been  tne  outcome  we  are  left  to  imagine.  The  next  one , 

though,  who  again  definitely  takes  up  the  aeoate  is  the  Franklin.  In 

his  tale  it  is  obvious  to  the  pilgrims  that  he  has  thought  out  some 

clear  refutations.  That  "women  ao  not  desire  to  he  constrained  as 

thralls"  alludes  to  the  Prologue  and  the  Tale  of  tne  Wife  of  hath;  that 

"love  is  a thing  of  free  spirit  and  that  women  naturally  love  liberty" 

refer  to  the  Clerk's  theory;  that  "he  who  is  patient  in  love  nas  the 

greatest  advantage"  recalls  tne  story  of  GriselcLa;  and  that  "there  are 

Joys,  ease,  and  prosperity  between  husband  and  wife"  suggests  the 

Merchant 's  praise  of  marriage.  Finally  the  franklin  concludes  not  only 

his  discussion  of  the  subject  but  the  whole  debate  with  tnis  view*  there 

should  be  mutual  forbearance  and  perfect  gentl9  love  between  husband 

(1) 

and  wife.  Thus  ends  one  of  the  acts  in  Chaucer's  "Human  Comedy". 

The  length  and  proportion  of  the  separate  stories  are  determin- 
ed by  people  of  varied  taste  and  yet  at  times  the  crowd  is  allowed  to 
decide  upon  the  end  oi  the  tales.  We  have  already  noted  interruptions 
when  the  pilgrims  have  become  impatient  with  the  narrations.  This  real- 
istic method  of  adjusting  the  proportion  is  an  interesting  device  to  be 
considered  later  in  our  discussion.  Let  us  turn  to  the  Prologue  at  the 
present. 

In  this  Chaucer  draws  a vivid  realistic  picture  of  nis  numerous 
characters  without  becoming  monotonous.  The  minor  characters  such  as 
the  Ifun  ana  the  three  pxiests  are  briefly  mentioned  in  a line  or  two, 
while  the  Knight,  the  Monk,  the  Friar,  ana  the  Host  are  more  fully 
described.  With  the  description  of  the  Pardoner  Chaucer  takes  leave 
of  his  pilgrims  and  returns  to  his  Tabard  Inn.  urieily  ana  yet  artfully 


(l)  Kittredge:  Chaucer  and  Eis  Poetry,  pp. 209-210. 


. 


. 


. 


-55- 


the  poet  relates  tne  Host's  preposition  for  the  journey.  After  the 
guests  assent  to  this  plan,,  they  sleep  in  preparation  for  a long  pil- 
grimage. The  next  morning  as  soon  as  the  Knight  is  designated,  by  lot 
to  teil  the  first  story,  the  Prologue  ends,  being  artistic  in  its 
proportion  throughout.  The  introduction  of  forty  lines  includes  the 
season,  the  place,  ana  the  occasion  for  the  assembling  at  the  Thoard 
Inn.  Then  follow  the  dramatic  Characters  as  they  appear  on  tne  road 
to  Canterbury  recounted  in  the  next  seven  hundred  and  twenty  lines 
(40-760).  The  definite  plans  for  tne  ride  ana  the  night's  rest  extends 
rrom  line  761  to  line  S21.  Ana  from  line  822  to  the  closing  line  900, 
the  poem  relates  the  happenings  of  tne  following  morning,  the  early 
departure  of  the  pilgrims,  ana  the  choosing  of  the  lot. 

Chaucer  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  various  types  of  mediaeval 
literature,  ana,  moreover,  showed  artistic  skill  in  constructing  them 
for  his  individual  pilgrims  going  to  Canterbury.  The  company  tell  ooth 
humorous  ana  serious  narratives.  We  may  not  here  analyze  the  plots  of 
all  the  tales;  but  we  Shall  treat  representatives  oi  the  romance  of 
chivalry,  the  lay,  the  exemplum,  the  fable,  the  fabliau  and  the  miracles 
of  the  virgin.  In  these  we  nay  note  that  Chaucer  in  handling  his  plots 
is  far  aoove  a crowd  of  miner  poets  who  have  dealt  with  similar  themes. 
There  is  great  reason  to  conclude  this  not  only  from  what  has  already 
seen  mentioned  concerning  Chaucer's  borrowed  and  original  material  in 
the  vision  poems  and  "Troilus  anu.  Crisoyde'J  but  from  some  evidences  wuich 
we  Shall  now  produce. 


. 

. 


. 


. 


■ 


-56' 


The  Knight's  Tala 

The  "Knight'a  Tale"  Chaucer  borrowed  mainly  from  boccaccio'a 
"Teseide"  and.  slightly  from  Statius'  "Thebaid".  Just  a very  few  of  the 
descriptive  passages  are  from  the  latter.  Though  the  plot  resembles 
the  former , the  presentation  is  in  many  respects  different.  Let  us  ex- 
amine wherein  Chaucer  has  made  his  changes.  Mr.  A.  W.  Ward  has  found 
that  the  English  poet  has  condensed  the  Italian  story  about  one  fifth. 

The  long  romantic  epic  of  10,176  lines  is  reduced  to  a tale  of  2,250 
lines.  Of  these,  270  lines  are  directly  translated  from  the  Italian 
poem,  374  lines  are  a general  imitation  of  "Teseide",  and  132  more  ex- 
hibit a slight  likeness  to  it.  Therefore  about  one  third  of  the  "Knight's 
Hale"  is  indebted  to  the  original  model. 

Let  us  turn  now  to  the  English  poem  and  in  some  detail  unfold  the 
plot  which  has  undergone  interesting  modifications,  omissions,  and  transi- 
tions. 

When  Theseus,  a conqueror,  returns  to  Athens  with  his  queen,  Eypo- 
lita,  and  his  sister-in-law,  Emily,  he  is  met  by  laiies  dressed  in  black 
who  bewail  their  grievous  fata.  Creon,  lord  of  the  city  of  Thebes,  will 
not  allow  them  to  burn  or  to  bury  the  bodies  of  their  slaughtered  hus-  • 
oands.  Theseus,  having  .promised  to  avenge  these  ladies,  leaves  his 
queen  and  Emily  to  dwell  in  their  new  home  while  he  goes  to  Thebes. 

After  Creon  bias  been  slain,  the  pillagers  ransack  the  heap  of  dead  bodies, 
in  order  to  strip  them  of  their  armour,  and  find  at  the  very  bottom, 
pierced  through  with  many  a bloody  wound,  two  cousins,  one  named  Arcite, 
the  other  Palamon.  These  two  knights  are  Carried  to  the  tent  of  Theseus 
and  are  sent  by  him  to  Athens  to  dwell  in  prison  for  the  rest  of  their 
days.  Theseus  then  rides  home.  In  a tower  with  daily  woe  the  prison- 


. 


* 

. 

- 

, s . 


. 


-57- 


ers  pass  their  hours.  One  Jfe.y  morning  Bnily,  fairer  than  the  lily, 
is  wandering  in  the  garden  adjoining  the  tower.  Phlamon,  who  i9  pac- 
ing to  and  fro  in  his  room,  pauses  at  his  window.  When  he  "beholds 
Emily,  he  cries  out  so  grievously  that  Arcite  rushes  quickly  to  his 
side  to  comiort  his  "beloved  friend.  Arcite,  too,  cast9  his  eyes  on 
Emily.  And  with  that  look  he  is  wounded  as  sorely  as  Palamon.  Hearing 
Arcite  say  that  he  wishes  to  see  her,  Palamon  turns  fiercely  to  his 
friend  to  remind  him  of  their  vow  that  never  until  death  would  one  hin- 
der the  other  in  love.  Arcite  replies  that  Palamon 's  affection  is  on- 
ly of  a goddess  "but  his  is  of  a living  creature.  Duke  Perithous 
while  visiting  Theseus  asks  to  have  his  friend,  Arcite,  released.  Af- 
ter a definite  understanding  that  he  is  never  for  a moment  to  "be  seen 
again  in  Theseus'  country,  Arcite  speeds  homeward,  exiled  for  evermore 
out  of  the  country  in  which  his  xaay  dwells.  Daily  he  mourns  his 
"banishment  from  her.  Palamon  thinks  his  condition  sadder  for  Arcite 
might  make  war  upon  Theseus  and  tnere’oy  win  his  lady,  "but  there  is  no 
hope  for  him  in  prison.  Arcite  grows  lean,  sallow,  ana  sadder.  Ho 
man  would  recognize  him.  it- ter  a year  or  two  of  pain  and  woe.  Mercury 
appears  to  him  in  a dream  and  says, 

"T*  Athene  ss  shaltou  wende; 

Ther  is  thee  shapen  of  thy  wo  an  ende. " 

Arcite,  convinced  "by  his  mirror  that  he  would  not  "be  known  in  Athens, 
disguises  himself  as  a poor  labourer  and  returns  to  the  forbidden  city. 
After  serving  as  a page  in  Theseus’  home  he  is  made  a squire.  In  the 
seventh  year  of  his  imprisonment  and  on  the  third  night  of  !.'b,y,  Phlamon 
with  his  friend's  help  escapes  from  prison  while  the  jailer  sleeps. 

To  a grove  he  flues  to  await  the  dark  of  the  next  night  when  he  can  go 


-58- 


to  Arcite  to  beg  him  to  make  war  upon  These-u.3.  The  lark  is  saluting 
the  gray  morning  as  Arc it e enters  the  grove  singing  of  May,  of  woe, 
and  of  Emily.  From  the  bush  which  has  concealed  him  Phlamon,  shaking 
with  ire,  rusr.es  forth  to  ask  Arcite  to  choose  either  death  or  the 
abandonment  of  Emily.  Immediately  Arcite  draws  his  sworn.  He  vows  that 
he  would  never  allow  Ihlamon  to  go  from  the  woods  if  he  were  not  sick 
and  mad  for  love  am  weaponless.  Thun  he  adds  that  he  will  bring 
Palamon  meat  and  drink  and  bedding  this  day  ana  a knightly  armour  the 
next  morning  tor  their  duel.  At  the  appointed  hour  they  begin  the 
thrusting  os  their  swords.  For  a wondrous  time  they  fight  with  blood 
up  to  their  anicle3.  On  this  May  morning  Theseus  with  his  queen  and 
Enily  go  hunting  in  the  grove.  Soon  Theseus  comes  upon  the  knights. 

"Ho",  he  says  as  he  rides  between  them.  At  once  Palamon  relates  why 
both  combatants  should  meet  immediate  death.  Tnen  the  women  begin  to 
weep.  Thereupon  Theseus  forgives  the  knights  on  condition  that  they, 
fifty  weeks  from  this  day,  bring  a hundred  knignts  armed  fully  for  the 
lists  to  contest  Emily.  Theseus  is  to  be  the  impartial  juige.  To  the 
victor  he  will  grant  the  lady.  In  the  meanwhile  he  has  built  an  amphi- 
theatre with  temples  of  Mars,  of  Diana,  and  of  Venus  richly  painted  with- 
in. On  the  appointed  day,  or  tne  Sunday  night  beiore  dawn,  Tklamon  hears 
the  lark  sing  as  he  goes  to  the  temple  of  Venus  in  the  lists.  There 
before  Venus  he  asks  not  for  victory  out  lor  his  lauy's  love.  Tne 
statue  of  Venus  snakes  am  makes  a sign  to  signify  tnat  his  prayer  is 
accepted.  Though  it  snows  delay,  he  knows  tnat  his  boon  is  to  be  grant- 
ed. later  Bnily  goes  to  Diana  and  begs  that  if  sne  must  nave  one  of 
the  knights  that  she  oe  given  the  one  who  desires  her  most.  One  of  the 
fires  on  the  altar  is  instantly  quenched,  then  relighted;  the  other  one 


’ 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 


. 

• 

• 

-59- 


S 

is  quenched  but  with  a whistling  sound  just  as  wet  brands  make  when 
burning.  At  the  ends  of  the  brands  run  out  bloody  drops.  Diana  then 
tells  her  that  to  one  of  the  knights  she  will  be  wedded.  Arcite  goes 
to  the  temple  of  Mars  to  offer  his  sacrifice.  After  reminding  Mars 
that  he,  a god,  once  had  sorrow  in  his  neart  when  his  love  of  Venus  wa3 
discoverer  by  Vulcan,  Arcite  begs  Mars  to  have  pity  on  his  grief.  He 
asks  for  victory  and  nothing  more.  A murmuring  full  low  and  dim  say3, 
"Victory".  Saturn  appears  to  Venus  oo  tell  her  not  to  weep,  that  she 
snail  keep  her  promise  to  Palamon.  At  the  hour  for  the  tournament, 
wnen  the  spectators  are  seated,  Arcite  with  bankers  red  rides  into  the 
lists  from  the  ^est  side  through  one  gates  of  I.krs;  and.  at  the  same 
moment  Palamon  with  banners  white  rides  from  tne  east  sire  through  the 
gate  of  Venus,  hre  the  sun  go©3  to  the  west  Palamon  feels  the  sword 
of  King  Kmetrius  bite  deep  his  fiesn.  Theseus  cries,  "Ho.1  Arcite  of 
Thebes  shall  have  Bully",  The  trumpeters  herald  the  victory  of  Arcite, 
But  when  Arcite  removes  nis  helmet  to  see  his  lady,  a miracle  takes 
place.  His  horse  leaps  aside.  Arcite  is  pitched  upon  tne  top  of  his 
head.  His  breast  swells.  The  pain  in  nis  neart  increases  each  moment. 
Arcite  must  die.  lie  sends  for  Bnily  and  Palamon.  Theseus  orders 
Arcite  ’s  sepulcnre  to  be  made  in  the  grove  wnere  Arcite  sang  of  his  woe 
ana  of  his  love.  There  his  bier  is  burnt  to  cola  ashes.  After  a few 
years  of  mourning  Palamon  and  Bnily  are  Called  to  parliament  by  Theseus. 
Theseus  says, 

"The  grete  tounes  see  we  wane  and  wenia, 

Then  may  ye  see  that  al  thing  hath  ende.  " 

Ann  why  do  we  still  have  gloom?  The  good  Arcite,  tne  flower  of 
chivalry, is  departed  with  honor.  Why  are  his  cousin  and  his  wife  in 


. 


. 

. 

. 

. 


-60- 


discontent  concerning  his  welfare?  Then  he  advises  tnat  the  two 
sorrows  "be  made  one  perfect  ana  everlasting  joy.  To  Einily  he  says, 

“Lend  me  your  hand",  and  to  Palamon,  "Come  near  and  taice  year  laay  by 
tne  hand."  Immediately  in  parliament  follows  the  "bond  of  matrimony. 

Chancer  has  converted  the  mediaeval  pseudo-epic  into  this 
mediaeval  romance  which.  has  lost  some  of  the  stateliness  of  the  eanier 
poem.  The  action  is  more  rapid.  In  order  to  produce  tins  kind  of  nar- 
rative he  reverses  the  order  of  some  cf  tne  episodes  and  omits  certain 
needless  explanations  and  descrip-cions.  The  return  of  Theseus  with 
his  queen,  Hypolita,  and  sister-in-law,  Elmily;  the  suppliant  ladies 
of  Thebes;  the  finding  of  Palamon  and  Arcite  among  the  dead  bodies; 
the  lifelong  imprisonment  cf  the  knights,  ana  the  infatuation  cf  the 
two  prisoners  for  Emily  are  all  recounted  in  200  lines  by  Caaucer. 
Palamon  not  Arc  ice  sees  hmily  first.  Arcite  does  not  wanner  disguised 
as  a page  beiore  he  comes  to  Theseus*  home.  Of  the  knightly  companions- 
at-arms  of  Iklamon  and  Arcite,  Chaucer  banishes  all  out  two,  Lycurgus 
and  Einetrius.  The  long  series  of  minor  combats  he  omius  am  yet  des- 
cribes vividly  tne  com  ubiou  oj.  the  miles.  He  passes  briefly  over  tne 
triumph,  does  not  mention  the  weaning  of  Arcite  ana  Emily,  and  leaves 
out  a display  of  great  generosity  cn  the  part  of  Arcite  when  Snily  and 
Palamon  are  at  his  bedside.  The  funeral  is  also  abridged.  Thus  the 
English  poet  snows  an  independence  in  his  introduction  of  changes  into 
his  romance. 

besides  pruning  the  tedious  and  monotonous  material  t-.at  does 
not  add  to  the  development  of  the  plot,  Chaucer  has  added  much  new 
material.  In  this  particular  the  poet  has  liberated  himself  from  the 
"thraldom"  of  literary  influence  more  in  this  poem  than  in  his  earlier 


. 


. 

. 


. 


-61- 


writings.  In  a discussion  of  the  new  elements  in  the  Ihlamon  and  Ar- 
cite  story  Professor  Cummings  has  compiled  the  following  examples^: 
the  potency  of  May  over  Palamon  and  Arcite;  the  growing  ^ealousy  of  the 
friends;  the  appearance  of  Mercury  in  a dream  to  counsel  Arcite;  the 
intervention  of  Saturn  so  that  both  Venus  and  wiars  may  carry  out  their 
promises  to  their  servants;  the  unsuccessful  efforts  of  leechcraft  to 
save  the  wounded  victor;  the  swooning  of  Suily  when  Arcite  dies;  and 
the  parliament  at  Athens  held  to  decide  Theban  "obeisaunce  " and 
"alliaunce"  with  certain  countries.  These  elements.,  however,  are  very 
essential  to  the  weaving  of  tne  romance  as  we  may  later  note  in  our  dis- 
cussion. 

It  is  true  that  Chaucer  has  omitted  a number  of  passages  that 
are  not  inartistic  and  has  inserted  seme  that  are  less  artistic.  When 
Palamon  stands  by  his  iron  barred  window  and  beholds  his  beautiful 
lady,  the  scene  is  "almost  crude".  Boccaccio  has  Efaily  wandering  in 
the  garden  making  a garland  when  her  sweet  song  attracts  the  ear  of  Ar- 
cite. Chaucer  has  a friend  of  Palamon  help  him  to  escape  from  prison. 

No  previous  provision  is  made  for  such  a friend.  Boccaccio  prepares 
for  assistance  in  the  escape  by  telling  us  that  the  prisoners  were  giv- 
en attendance  of  many  servitors. 

The  technique  in  Chaucer’s  plot  is  in  many  respects  superior  to 
that  of  Baccaccic.  Sully  who  is  to  be  the  wife  of  Phlamon  is  seer, 
first  by  him.  Chaucer’s  sense  of  poetical  justice  leads  him  to  this 
arrangement.  Ihlamcn  is  not  apprised  of  Arcite’s  days  of  freedom  by 

(l)  Cummings,  "Indebtedness  of  Chaucer  to  Boccaccio,"  Ch. VI. 


; 

■ 

. 

-62- 


a friend  visiting  him  in  prison.  For  Palamon's  information  concerning 
Arcite  Chaucer  chose  a happy  device.  Palamon  is  hidden  in  a bush  when 
Arcite  wanders  through  the  grove  singing  of  the  month  of  ?>iay,  of  his  woe, 
and  of  his  love.  The  dramatic  action  of  Palamon  in  his  announcement  of 
his  presence  and  of  his  threat  is  followed  by  Arcite 's  avowal  to  bring 
knightly  armour  to  his  friend  for  their  duel.  The  technique  is  further 
perfected  by  Theseus  1 pardoning  of  the  knights  and  planning  for  the 
tournament.  In  the  temples  which  he  erects  tor  the  appointed  day,  the 
prayers  are  answered  in  such  an  artistic  manner  that  the  climax  of  the 
plot  is  suggested. 

This  transformation  of  episodes,  introduction  of  new  ones,  and 
rearrangement  of  old  ones  has,  moreover,  altered  the  atmosphere  of 
Boccaccio's  poem.  The  pseudo-classical  atmosphere  gives  way  to  a 
romantic  atmosphere  enriched  by  realistic  touches.  Mr.  Bobertson  points 
out  the  following  ear-marks  of  realism:  Theseus'  battle  with  Creon; 
the  sacking  of  Theees;  the  fetters  around  the  shins  of  Palamon;  Arcite *s 
disguise  first  as  a page  and  second  as  a squire;  the  armed  combat  of 
Palamon  and  Arcite  in  the  grove;  the  description  of  the  knights  in  the 
tournament;  and  the  preparation  for  the  combat.  To  these  Professor 
Cummings  adds  a few  others.  The  mural  paintings  of  the  temple  of  liars 
present  the  mediaeval  phenomena  of  rapine  in  which  thousands  are  slain; 
towns  are  sacked,  ships  are  burnt,  and  children  are  devoured  by  swine. 
B&lamon ' 3 knights  are  arrayed  in  the  style  of  harness  according  to  their 
own  opinions.  The  spectators  at  the  tournament  are  of  the  mediaeval 
type.  The  heralds  proclaim  the  victory.  Arcite  is  treated  by  the  prac- 
tice of  leechcraft.  Parliament  is  convened  by  the  ruler,  Theseus. 


. 


/ 


, 

: 


■ 


-63- 


Judging  from  all  these  evidences  of  realism  the  atmosphere  of  the  p-lot 
depends  not  so  much  upon  the  elements  cf  pseudo-classicism  or  mediaeval 
metrical  romance  as  upon  life  itself. 

Thus  the  Knight,  who  lias  seen  many  cities  and  has  lived  in  the 
dreams  of  chivalry,  tells  us  a romantic  tale.  He  chooses  for  his  theme 
the  strife  between  brotherhood  and  love.  Palamon  and  Arciue  were 
friends  from  early  childhood  but  in  prison  they  fall  in  love  with  the 
same  lady  and  so  become  enemies  until  .Arc ite  re-knits  the  friendship 
on  his  death  bed.  The  spirit  of  romance  thus  unifies  the  delightful 
plot  of  the  "Knight's  Tale".  Theseus,  a chivalrous  conqueror,  while 
returning  with  his  bride.  Queen  Hypolita,  lends  a kind  ear  to  the  grief 
stricken  widows.  He  chivalrously  seeks  a revenge  for  them.  When  Theseus 
comes  upon  the  knights  dueling  in  the  grove,  he  quickly  decides  to  have 
a tournament  for  the  choosing  of  linily.  It  is  he  who  makes  the  elaoorate 
preparations  for  the  combat.  He  commands  that  only  spears  be  used  and 
that  the  wounded  be  carried  off  the  field.  He  is  not  only  the  impartial 
judge,  but  the  one  to  give  Jimily  to  the  winner.  Whan  Arcice's  death  has 
been  mourned  many  cays,  Theseus  summons  kmily  and  Palamon  to  parliament 
where  he  gives  Sicily  to  Palamon.  Thus  Theseus  unifies  the  plot  in  directing 
the  action. 

The  tone  cf  tenderness  and  love  is  further  sustained  by  the  lifey 
day  setting,  Hnily,  a fair  vision,  does  not  spesk,  except  in  prayer, 
but  plays  the  part  of  a bright  snining  star.  Her  appearance  in  the 
garden  sheds  upon  each  of  the  lovers  her  supreme  radiance.  The  love  of 
such  a one  might  quickly  ana  easily  break  the  life-long  friendship  of 
two  knights.  It  is  on  a May  morning  that  she  goes  into  the  garden  to 
gather  white  and  red  flowers  for  a garland.  There  in  her  beauty  the 


• 

' 

• 

• 

. 

. 

-64- 


friends  espy  her.  incite  is  singing  a song  of  the  month  of  Ivhy  while 
he  passes  the  bush  in  which  Palamon  is  hidden.  He  cornes  thither  to  make 
a garland  of  the  sprays  in  the  grove.  The  tournament  is  held  on  a May 
aay,  fifty  weeks  from  the  knights'  first  combat  in  the  grove.  When  Ar- 
cite  is  on  his  bier,  a gar  lane,  of  green  is  on  his  head.  ?hus  with  these 
occasional  touches  of  May  the  tone  is  sustained,  from  the  beginning  to 
the  close  of  the  tale.  Chaucer  nas  fashioned  an  artistic  unity  through 
these  simple  and  natural  devices. 

This  poem  of  chivalrous  ideals  lived  by  knights  and  ladies  in 
an  almost  fanciful  world  colored,  by  a few  pictures  of  realism  is  pre- 
sented by  many  rich  and  variea  pageants.  The  episodes  are  beautifully 
knit  together.  There  is  no  superfluous  material.  With  one  exception 
Chaucer  has  provided  for  the  development  of  his  plot.  The  reader, per- 
haps,  may  be  surprised  to  read  that  Palamon' s friend  aided  him  in  his 
escape  where  there  nad  been  no  previous  suggestion  of  his  friend.  This 
' point,  however,  is  not  one  of  prime  importance.  In  all  the  other 
episoo.es  we  are  charmed  by  the  smoothness  of  the  connecting  links. 
Theseus,  whom  we  have  noted  as  a factor  employed  to  unify  the  whole 
plot,  is  in  the  very  first  pageant.  Into  the  city  with  aim  comes  Snily 
to  live  in  his  home.  The  widows  beseech  Theseus  to  succor  them.  This 
provides  for  the  finding  of  the  two  knights  of  Thebes  ana  their  im- 
prisonment in  his  tower  adjoining  his  garden  in  which  Palamon  ana 
Arcite  behold  ilnily,  Duke  Perithous  comes  to  visit  Theseus  and  so  be- 
ing a friend  is  grantee  his  request.  Arcite,  having  cnanged  because 
of  years  of  grief  can  easily  disguise  himself.  Palamon,  of  course, 
does  not  recognize  nis  voice  which  is  changed  but  does  recognize  his 
vOe  which  he  sings.  Then  fellows  their  meeting  and  the  courtesy  ren- 


' 


- 


. 


-65- 


dered  to  each  other.  Theaeus  was  accustomed  to  hunt  in  this  grove  at 
tills  hour.  His  chivalrous  spirit  in  dealing  with  the  bereaved  ladies 
in  the  first  scene  prepares  for  his  attitude  here.  The  granting  of  the 
prayers  offered  to  Venus,  Diana,  and  Mars  is  very  significant.  They 
suggest  the  unravelling  of  the  complications  in  the  plot.  Venus  shows 
delay  in  the  giving  of  the  boon.  Diana  has  one  of  the  fires  quenched 
and  then  relighted,  while  the  other  light  is  quenched  Just  as  the  brand 
drops  blood.  I'<hrs  gives  a dim  low  murmur  "Victory".  Again  a prophecy 
is  revealed  by  the  opponents  as  they  enter  the  lists.  Arcite  is  men- 
tioned first  and  so  the  outcome  of  the  tournament  is  anticipated  by 
the  reader.  At  this  point  we  expect  Saturn  to  fulfill  his  promise  to 
Venus.  It  is  not  the  intervention  but  the  nature  of  it  that  surprises 
us.  The  subsequent  action  follows  the  mortal  wound  of  Arcite  until  we 
come  to  the  last  episode.  Theseus  who  has  been  the  motive  force  in  the 
plot  once  mere  takes  charge  Of  the  situation.  Thus  the  episodes  pass 
before  us  showing  the  growing  enmity  of  the  friends,  Tklamon,  the 
dreamer,  and.  Arcite,  the  man  of  action.  It  is  the  latter  who  determines 
the  destiny.  Pal&mon  drifts  with  the  tide.  Arcite  on  his  deatn  bed 
betroths  Scily  to  his  cousin.  At  last  friendship  wins  its  triunph  over 
Jealousy.  The  reality  o:  the  mystery  of  life  'with  its  tragedy  and  its 
Patnos  is  opened  to  us  by  this  sequence  of  pictures. 

YThat  Boccaccio  has  told  in  his  epic  poem  is  condensed  and  changed 
by  lhaucer  into  excellently  proportioned  episodes.  The  introduction 
of  the  English  poem  is  suggestive  but  not  drawn  out  too  extensively. 

In  the  first  200  lines  we  meet  Theseus,  Snily,  Pklamon,  and  Arcite 
and  are  made  acq^ainte.l.  witn  tneir  dominant  characteristics  which  mould 
the  rest  of  the  tale.  The  need  and  the  preparations  for  the  tourna- 


, 


. 


-G6- 


ment  are  quickly  and  viviuiy  descrioeo.  as  I pa ive  indicated  in  the 
synopsis  of  the  tale.  After  the  climax  Chaucer  takes  but  a few  lines 
to  tell  of  the  funeral.  The  philosophy  of  life  in  Theseus'  speech  leads 
up  directly  to  his  climax,,  that  mourning  should  end  and  joy  should  be- 
gin. 

After  the  pilgrims  have  listened  to  the  Knight's  interesting 
romance  they  turn  an  ear  to  the  "Squire's  Tale"  expecting  anotr.er 
fascinating  cnivalrous  romance  well  proportioned,  unified,  and  coherent. 
The  Squire,  living  in  the  future,  intends  to  accomplish  greater  deeds 
than  the  Knight.  His  life,  like  his  tale,  has  charm  because  of  its  in- 
completeness. Unr orvunately  we  cannot  compare  the  two  plots  for  the 
tale  of  the  Squire  is  abruptly  ended  after  it  runs  thus  far: 

The  Tartar  king  on  his  wondrous  steed  of  brass  can  fly  in  the 
air  as  high  as  an  eagle  and  in  a day  arrive  wherever  he  aesires.  He 
has  been  given  on  his  birthday  other  magic  gifts.  There  is  a ring  wnich 
enables  one  to  understand  the  voice  of  all  the  birds  and  to  converse 
with  them.  The  magic  mirror  reveals  all  the  deeds  of  friends  or  foes. 
The  magic  sword  can  pierce  the  strongest  armor  ana  nas  power  to  heal 
or  cure.  In  the  second  part  of  the  tale,  the  Tartar  King's  daughter, 
Canacee,  while  wearing  the  ring  learns  a tale  of  the  falcon's  unhappy 
love.  There  are  to  be  great  'wire.  But  here  the  tale  breaks  off. 

The  Franklin's  Tale 

The  "Franklin ' s Tale"  is  not  only  an  important  part  of  the 
marriage  group  as  we  have  indicated  aoove,  but  an  artistic  transition 
in  the  "Canterbury  Tales".  The  Franklin,  a prosperous  country  land- 
lord, admits  at  the  close  of  the  "Squire's  Tale"  that  he  regrets  that 


-67- 


his  son  has  not  the  "gentillesse"  of  the  noble  Squire.  But  the  Host 
becoming  impatient  cries  out,  "A  straw  for  your  'gentillesse  ' .'  dome  on 
and  tell  us  a story”.  Pernaps  the  Host  was  still  thinking  of  the  huge 
forfeit  agreed  upon  before  the  Pilgrims  left  the  Tabard  Inn  and  was 
trying  to  irritate  the  Franklin  so  that  he  ’would  refuse  to  take  part 
now.  To  the  Host's  request  the  Franklin  cordially  assents  and  snows 
no  rebellion. 

It  would  seem  from  his  tale  that  he,  if  received  into  the 
Squire's  company,  would  offend  none  of  a refined  taste.  He  knows  a 
type  which  the  gentlefolk  would  enjoy  and  so  proceeds  with  the  lay.  In 
fact  the  lay  differed  from  the  fabliau,  another  popular  form  of  mediaeval 
literature,  in  being  intended  especially  for  the  chivalric  class  ^/'. 

In  the  twelfth  century  a chronicler  speaks  of  the  "aventurae  nob  ilium" 
and  "fabellae  ignobilium".  This  distinction  is  due  to  the  character 
of  the  public  entertained  by  each,  and  to  the  origin.  After  the  Norman 
conquest  many  French  lays  were  popular  in  England.  later  there  were  a 
few  Breton  "lais".  In  two  of  these,  "Sir  Orfeo"  and  "Iai  le  Freine ", 
there  is  an  excellent  definition  of  the  lay  which  will  enable  us  to 
see  why  this  type  was  thus  received  by  the  noble  class.  There  were 
some  lays  of  weal,  some  of  woe,  some  of  ioy  and  mirth,  some  of  treachery 
and  of  guile,  some  of  old  adventure,  and  ribauldry,  and  many  of  faery 
and  of  all  things  that  men  see,  but  most  of  love.  England  had  an  example 
of  nearly  every  class.  Our  Franklin  selects  one  of  woe  ana  of  love  for 
this  occasion. 

There  was  a knight  in  Armorica,  modern  Brittany,  who  loved  his 


(l)  Schofield, "History  of  English  Literature",  p. 180. 


-66- 


beautiful  lady  so  much  that  he  refrained  from  telling  her  hi3  '.roe  and 
distress.  She,  touched  by  his  obedience  and  worthiness,  agreed  to  take 
him  for  her  husband  and  her  lord.  He  asserted  that  he  would  not  take 
upon  him  any  mastery  against  her  will  nor  show  and  jealousy;  but  would 
follow  and  obey  her  will  as  any  lover  should.  She,  upon  seeing  his 
gentleness,  uttered  a wish  that  no  strife  or  war  should  ever  come  be- 
tween them.  They  lived  two  years  and  more  in  blissful  wedlock — luring 
which  time  their  love  grew  stronger,  for  there  was  no  claim  of  mastery 
in  the  home — until  the  husband,  Arrfcragus,  felt  called  upon  to  go  to 
England  to  carry  on  war.  While  the  knight  was  absent,  Dorigen,  his 
wife,  wept  constantly  for  him.  Her  friends  trying  to  comfort  her  in- 
vited her  to  -.Talk  with  them  along  the  sea  snore.  Hut  as  she  watched 
the  ships  on  the  waves,  she  would  say,  ” Is  there  no  ship  that  will 
cring  home  my  lord?”  She  wished  that  all  the  black  rocks  in  the  sea 
were  sunk  for  his  sake.  The  very  rocks  slew  her  heart.  Seeing  that  this 
was  no  diversion,  the  friends  invited  her  to  walk,  play  chess,  and 
dance  in  the  garden.  At  one  of  the  garden  dances  on  the  sixth  of  lay 
there  was  a squire,  young,  strong,  virtuous,  rich,  wise,  and  well  be- 
loved. It  happened  that  this  lusty  squire,  a servant  to  Venus,  who 
was  called  Aurelius,  had  long  loved  Dorigen.  She  knew  it  not.  He  in 

dispair  dared  not  tell  her  his  sorrow  and  yet  he  could  not  keep  it  out 
of  his  songs.  Nevertheless,  before  the  merry  making  ended,  they  en- 
tered into  friendly  discussions.  To  the  persistent  wooer  Dorigen  in 
play  replied  that  she  would  grant  him  her  love  if  he  would  remove  all 
the  rocks  from  the  coast  of  .Brittany.  Then  answered  Aurelius  with  a 
sad  heart  that  the  feat  was  an  impossibility.  He  invoked  Lori  Phoebus 
to  cast  an  eye  of  mercy  upon  him  and  send  a flood  that  would  cover  the 


. 


-69- 


highest  rock  in  Brittany.  His  "brother,  who  knew  of  his  suffering, 
brought  him  to  bed.  Remembering  that  he  had  seen  a book  of  natural 
magic  while  he  was  at  Orleans,  he  went  to  Aurelius'  bed  to  tell  him 
of  his  plan.  On  the  road  to  Orleans  the  brothers  were  met  by  a breton 
clerk  who  already  knew  the  purpose  of  their  coming.  The  clerk,  a 
magician,  took  them  home  to  supper.  Beiore  they  dined,  the  magician 
snowed  them  forest  ana  parks  full  of  wild  deer;  knights  jousting  in 
a plain,  and  his  lady  in  a dance.  But  when  he  clapped  his  hands  to- 
gether, all  his  magic  disappeared.  After  supper  Aurelius  agreed  to 
give  the  clerk  one  thousand  pounds  if  b.9  would  remove  the  rocks  from 
the  coast  of  brittany.  That  night  joy  again  filled  Aurelius'  heart. 

When  Aurelius  knew  that  there  was  no  obstacle — that  the  rocks  no 
longer  were  there--he  fell  down  at  his  master's  feet  ana  gave  thanks 
to  his  lord  and  to  Venus.  With  heart  full  of  dread  he  sought  his 
lady  and  reminded  her  of  her  promise  in  the  garden.  Tor  a few  days  she 
continued  to  weep  and  to  wail.  On  the  third  night  of  her  weeping 
Ar\ir.,,gus  ms  told  the  cause  of  her  sorrow.  He  immediately  r eplied 
that  truth  is  the  highest  thing  that  man  may  keep.  Paving  advised  her 
to  tell  nobody  of  her  adventure,  he  called  a squire  and  a maiden  to 
take  her  to  the  garden.  In  the  town  before  she  came  to  the  garden, 
Aurelius  met  r.er  and  asked  her  where  she  was  going.  She  sadly  told 
him  that  her  husband  bad  budden  her  keep  her  promise.  Aurelius  marvelling 
at  the  generosity  of  Arviragus  refused  to  let  her  keep  her  pledge  say- 
ing that  he  would  rather  suffer  woe  than  part  the  love  of  these  two. 
Together  Bongen  and  Arvarugus  lived  happily  the  rest  of  their  lives 
and  the  former  was  true  to  the  latter  for  evermore.  The  disappointed 
suitor  knowing  that  he  would  have  to  sell  his  heritage  to  pay  his  magician 


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-70- 


t old.  the  dark  of  his  unhappy  fate.  The  philosopher.,  however,  hearing 
the  sorrow,  answers.!  that  since  both  the  knight  and  the  squire  had 
shown  gentleness,  that  ne  too  would  do  a gentle  deed,  and  at  once  re- 
lease him  from  the  thousand  pounds.  Then  the  clerk  rode  away.  Which 
was  the  most  liberal,  think  you? 

Chaucer’s  opening  lines  in  the  prologue  of  tuis  tale  and  the 
setting  suggest  that  the  poet  is  to  tell  a Breton  lay  tut  no  lay,  treat- 
ing the  subject  thus,  is  extant.  Moreover,  there  is  such  a variety 
in  the  tone  and  spirit  of  the  "Franklin's  Tale"  that  it  seems  improb- 
able that  the  lay  has  been  derived  from  one  source.  Geoffrey  of  Mon- 
mouth in  his  "Eistoria  Begun  Britannia^  has  a slight  hint  for  part  of 
the  story  but  not  for  the  plot.  He  records  in  book  IS,  chapters  13-15 
that  there  is  a British  Chief tain  Arv tragus  who  after  a successful  war 
against  the  Honan  general  Claudius  is  granted  the  beautiful  daughter  of 
Claudius.  Together  they  live  a happy  married  life.  Nevertheless, 
Geoffrey's  account  cannot  be  regarded  as  the  source  or  the  foundation 
of  the  Breton  lay. 

There  is  a general  likeness  to  Chaucer's  lay  in  the  lay  of 
"Equitan"  by  Marie  de  France.  Equit&n  has  long  loved  a married  woman 
but  Deing  a friend  of  both  the  husband  ana  wife  is  not  suspected.  Ee 
too  dwells  in  Brittany  and  suffers  because  of  his  love-longing  before 
he  tells  the  lady  of  his  affection.  Marie  de  France  also  relates  a 
parallel  to  the  garden  scene  in  the  lay  of  "Ianval".  Eere  the  roles 
are  reversed;  the  lady  seeks  the  love  of  the  knight.  In  the  "Franklin’s 
This",  Dorigen  is  sorrowful  because  Arvoragus  has  not  returned;  in  the 
lay  of  "Ianval",  Ienval  grieves  because  he  is  far  from  his  "amie".  Both 
Dorigen  and  Ianval  are  being  cheered  by  their  friends.  A slighter 


-71- 


similarity  is  in  her  "Guildeluec  and  Guillia&um".  Marie  tells  in  it 
the  story  of  a distinguished  knight  of  Brittany  who  leaves  his  happy 
home  to  go  to  .England  where  he  carries  on  war.  His  wife  like  Dorigen 
grieves  at  her  husband’s  departure. 

Another  motive  in  Chaucer's  lay — the  fidelity  to  one's  plighted 
word — is  frequently  found,  in  the  early  tales  of  the  Celts.  In  "Sir 
Orfeo",  a Midale  English  poem,  which  professes  to  be  a Breton  lay,  the 
harper  in  disguise  plays  so  -sweetly  before  the  king,  who  holds  Eurydice 
in  his  lani,  that  he  is  ofrered  whatever  he  might  wish.  The  harper 
asks  for  return  of  his  wife,  Eurydice.  The  king  at  first  objects,  but 
being  reminded  of  his  v?ora  grants  the  request. 

The  evidences  of  these  analogues  are  not  much  more  convincing 
than  the  following  ones.  Professor  Skeat  asserts  that  the  ultimate 
source  is  certainly  Eastern;  ana  that  we  may  be  sure  that  Chaucer  and 
Boccaccio  drev?  their  stories  irom  very  similar  sources.  Proiessor 
Bajna  disagrees  with.  Professor  Schofield's  theory  that  the  "Franklin's 
Tale"  ms  derived  from  a Breton  lay,  and  yet  does  not  offer  much  con- 
clusive evidence  to  prove  that  it  is  drawn  from  Boccaccio  's  "Filocolo". 
The  Italian  narrative  recounts  no  long  absence  of  the  husband  from  his 
home  in  Spain,  Tarolfo,  the  passionate  suitor,  is  promised  the  full 
enjoyment  of  the  wife  's  love  if  he  can  make  a garden  bloom  and  bear 
fruit  in  January.  Hie  lever  wandering  o . f on  a journey  through 
Thessaly  meets  Tebano,  an  old  herb-^-tner,  who  returns  with  him  lO 
his  home  to  help  him.  !7ith  a magic  liquid  scattered  over  the  earth, 
the  field  of  January  is  converted  by  this  magician,  Tesano,  into  a 
flowering  meadow  of  May.  Immeuia  lely  Tarolfo  demands  that  his  laay 
keep  her  pledge.  Her  distress,  the  generous  husband,  lover,  and 


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-72- 


magician  are  all  closely  parallel  to  the  closing  verses  of  the  "Franklin's 
Tale.  " 

Chancer  has  applied  tnese  old  stories  of  happy  wedded  life,  the 
opportune  appearance  of  the  enchanter,  ana  the  fidelity  to  one's  plight- 
ed  word  in  a most  skilful  manner  to  his  own  lay.  He  has  joined  these 
three  outstanding  features  into  a unity  though,  perraps,  not  a harmon- 
ious whole.  Our  imagination  is  suddenly  checked  in  its  delightful 
Illusions  for  Chaucer's  practical  rexcarks  quickly  bring  us  to  our 
common  sense.  His  lay,  therefore,  is  not  altogether  a Breton  romance. 

At  the  very  Beginning  the  poet  relates  the  gentleness  of  tne  knight  to 
his  lady  and  the  graciousness  of  the  lady  accepting  the  knight  as  her 
husoand  and  her  lord.  But  he  inserts  this  sly  remark, 

"Of  swich  lordship  as  men  han  over  hir  wyves;  " 
insinuating  that  nobody  can  tell  beiorehand  or  without  personal  experience 
what  his  wedded  life  will  be.  By  a stroke  of  a pen  the  courtly  sentiment 
is  shattered  by  a bourgeois  experience.  True  to  knightly  vows  the  hus- 
band feels  that  he  must  go  to  seek  in  arms  worship  and  honor.  During  his 
absence  Dorigen's  friends  know  that  her  love  of  Arveragua  is  the  cause 
of  her  deep  sorrow, 

"For  his  absence  wepeth  sue  and  syketh. 

As  doon  tnise  noble  wyves  whan  hem  lyketh.  " 

This  touch,  of  Chaucer's  humor  is  excelled  by  the  following  reiaark  address- 
ea  to  the  married  members  in  the  pilgrimage: 

"Lerneth  to  suffre,  or  elles,  so  moot  I goon. 

Ye  shul  it  lerne,  wher-so  ye  wole  or  noon". 

After  Borigen  has  met  Aurelius  and  nas  promised  him  her  love  on  condition 
tmt  ne  perform  the  feat,  she,  recalling  her  husband's  gentleness,  is 


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so  grieved  that  she  considers  suicide., 

"Hath  ther  not  many  a noble  wyf , er  this. 

And  cany  a mayde  y-slayn  hir-self , alias.'" 

Then  she  recalls  a catalogue  of  women  who  died  ratner  than  sully  their 
honor.  She  feels  that  death  is  the  only  thing  that  can  now  save  her 
from  dishonor.  Knowing  that  the  rocks  are  removed,  Dorigen  is  at  last 
unable  to  decide  what  course  to  pursue  next.  This  makes  the  burden  of 
the  problem  fall  upon  Arviragus  who  has  already  promised  to  serve  her 
in  his  best  way.  He,  therefore,  generously  sacriiicss  his  happy  home 
in  order  to  let  her  keep  her  troth  for  he  says, 

"Trouthe  is  the  hyeste  thing  that  man  may  kepe". 

Poor  Dorigen  had  not  designated  the  feat  in  the  "Filoeolo, " which  we 
have  already  mentioned.  The  motive  for  setting  that  task  would  have 
been  prompted  by  selfishness.  Just  the  mere  beauty  of  the  ^.rden  would 
have  satisfied  her  own  aesthetic  taste.  But  she  did  ask  to  have  the 
rocks  removed  from  the  snore  so  that  her  husband's  return  voyage  would 
be  safer.  And  now  ner  loyalty  to  Arviragus  has  become  an  instrument 
against  him.  Only  this  attitude  on  the  part  of  the  husband  can  solve 
Dorigen's  trouble.  Bis  squire  hearing  of  Arviragus ' gentleness  re- 
leases Dorigen,  ana  likewise  the  magician,  hearing  of  the  squire's 
gentleness,  releases  the  squire.  Thus  the  motive  for  every  important 
act  in  this  lay  is  gentleness. 

The  "Franklin's  Tale"  is  coherently  fashioned.  The  poet  provides 
for  all  the  necessary  links  in  the  tale.  The  absence  of  the  knight 
brings  on  the  sorrow  of  Dorigen.  Her  brooding  over  the  wave-washed  sea 
vdiile  she  strolls  with  her  friends  causes  her  friends  to  arrange  another 
form  of  entertainment.  The  dance  in  the  garden  offers  a pleasant  diver- 


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-74- 


si  on  for  her.  At  this  dance  a former  lover,  the  squire,  makes  hia 
sorrow  known  to  the  "beautiful  wife.  Her  playful  promise  to  him  sends 
him  a way  in  despair.  Only  a magical  feat  can  save  him  now.  Then 
follows  Dorigen's  plaints  to  Fortune  patterned  after  a mediaeval  con- 
vention.^ Perhaps  this  is  an  unnecessari ly  long  digression.  At  last 
"because  of  her  unresourcefulness  her  husband  has  to  decile  for  her. 
Following  the  unique  account  of  the  generosity  of  the  three  main  actors 
involved  in  Dorigen's  promise  to  Aurelius  is  this  charming  ending, 

"Which  was  the  moste  free,  as  thinketh  you?" 

It  was  a fond  amusement  of  the  Middle  Ages  to  discuss  love  and  end  it 
with  a question.  (2) 

Hie  trouveres  frequently  held  assemblies  known  as 
"Puys  d 'amour".  Such  discussions  on  the  subtler  subject  of  love  occur 
in  Boccaccio's  "Filocolo".  Filocolo's  opinion  on  the  first  of  thirteen 
"Questioni  d'Amore"  occupies  most  ot  the  fourth  book  which  we  have  cit9d 
above  in  Chaucer's  sources. 

The  poem  is  well  proportioned.  Briefly  but  vividly  the  setting 
of  the  scene  is  pictured.  In  the  first  264  verses  the  story  leads  up 
to  the  promise  of  POrigen  to  Aurelius.  Then  the  next  third  of  the  lay 
reveals  the  despair  and  sorrow  of  the  squire,  and  the  work  of  the 
magician.  Since  Dorigen's  grief  is  the  main  part  of  the  plot,  it 
occupies  most  of  the  last  third.  Just  a few  verses  tell  of  the  gentle- 
ness so  that  the  reader  may  have  the  joy  of  deciding  the  question. 

(1)  Chaucer  draws  his  examples  of  la-ies  who  have  died  rather  than  sully 
their  honor  from  Jerome's  "Epistola  adversus  Jovinianum". 

(2)  lie  i Is  on,  William,  Allan,  "Hie  Origins  and  Sources  of  the  Court  of 
Love",  Harvard  Studies  and  Notes  in  Philology  and  Literature,  Vol.VI. 
pp. 245-248. 


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,! The  Shipman ' s Tale" 

Having  "brought  on  the  rebuke  of  the  Parson  by  his  oaths  the  host 
replies  that  he  smells  a "Idler  in  the  wind".  Then  the  Shipman,,  who 
fears  that  the  Parson  will  proceed  to  render  a sermon,  volunteers  to 
tell  a tale  which  will  ring  so  merrily  that  it  will  waken  all  the  com- 
pany. 

Chaucer  hem  adapts  the  fabliau,  a popular  form  of  the  middle 
ages.  Though  his  tala  is  similar  to  the  one  in  the  "Decameron",  his 
setting  seems  to  indicate  that  the  tale  was  derived  from  a French 
fabliau.  In  the  twelfth,  thirteenth,  and  fourteenth  centuries  many 
fabliaux  were  conp>ose&  in  the  north  part  of  France,  and  doubtless  their 
narrative  art  did  influence  Chaucer.  For  he,  likewise,  made  his  "Ship- 
man's Tale"  brief,  interesting,  and  comic  as  we  may  note  in  this 
synopsis: 

There  was  a rich  Merchant  dwelling  at  Saint  Denis  who  had  a 
beautiful  companionable  wife  fond  of  her  revelry.  .Among  all  his  guests 
both  great  and  small  the  most  familiar  was  a Monk  of  thirty  years.  Be- 
fore the  Merchant  went  to  Bruges  he  asked  Din  John,  the  fair  and  bold 
monk,  to  come  to  stay  a day  or  two  with  him.  The  guest  brought  a 
vessel  of  Malmsey  and  another  of  fine  "vernage".  For  two  days  the 
Merchant  and  the  Monk  drank  and  played.  But  on  the  third  morning  the 
host  went  tc  his  office  to  look  over  his  bocks  and  stayed  until  nine. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  monk  lad  risen  and  strolled  into  the  garden.  Soon 
the  wife,  his  cousin,  walked  quietly  into  the  garden.  Seeing  her, 
the  Monk  inquired  what  made  her  so  pale.  She  replied  no  one  was  so 
full  of  dread  and  care  as  she.  To  relieve  her  of  this  distress  he  re- 
quested her  to  tell  him  all  so  that  he  could  give  her  counsel.  Hot  for 


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-73- 


kinship  would  he  do  it;  hut  out  of  true  love.  Thereupon  she  confided 
that  her  husband  was  the  worst  ;nan  there  ever  was  since  the  world  began — 
in  fact  he  was  not  worth  a fly.  If  the  Monk  would  lend  her  one  hundred 
francs,  she  could  yet  save  her  honor.  Ihn  John  promised  to  give  her  the 
money  when  her  husband  nad  gone  to  Flamers.  It  was  then  nine  o'clock 
and  so  the  wife  went  to  the  house  to  order  the  preparations  of  the  dinner. 
After  having  enjoyed  the  dinner  the  Merchant  announced  that  he  would  go 
the  next  day  to  Flanders.  He  gave  his  wife  full  directions  for  her  com- 
fort in  his  absence.  To  Ehn  John  he  remarked  that  with  him  he  need  have 
re  strange  fare.  And  so  as  scon  as  the  wife  left  them  alone,  the  Monk 
asked  his  friend,  now  so  intimate,  to  land  him  a hundred  francs  for 
only  a week  or  two.  Secretly  the  money  thus  was  given.  Then  the  Monk 
rode  off  to  his  abbey.  On  the  next  morning  the  Merchant  journed  to 
hruges  to  buy  his  goods.  To  the  Merchant’s  home  the  following  Sunday 
Ihn  John  with  the  hundred  francs  came  and  stayed  that  night.  7?hen  the 
fair  had  ended,  the  Merchant  returned  bearing  the  news  to  his  wife  that 
the  merchandise  was  so  dear  that  he  would  have  to  make  a contract  for 
borrowing  money  on  credit.  This  would  necessitate  his  paying  down 
twenty  thousand  "shea Ids".  For  which  sum  he  must  go  to  Paris.  There  e 
met  again  Dan  John  who  said  that  if  he  were  rich,  he  would  gladly  lend 
him  the  money.  The  money  which  he  had  borrowed,  he  had  already  returned 
to  the  Merchant's  wife.  After  borrowing  the  money  from  Lombards,  the 
Merchant  went  home  full  of  glee.  The  next  morning  he  reproved  his  wife 
for  not  informing  him  that  Efa.n  John  had  paid  her  the  hundred  francs. 
Immediately  she  admitted  having  received  and  spent  the  sum  but  premised 
to  repay  her  husband  and  begged  him  not  to  be  wroth  but  to  laugh  and 
play.  He,  cautioning  ner  not  to  be  liberal  anymore,  forgive  her. 


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-77- 


As  were  the  plots  of  the  fabliaux,  we  see  that  this  plot  too 
is  very  simple.  There  is  nothing  in  this  frankly  sensual  story  to 
destroy  its  unity.  The  stupidity  of  the  husband  and  the  cleverness  of 
the  Monk  and  the  wife  color  the  entire  episode.  To  the  bourgeois  home 
is  invited  an  old  friend,  B*n  John,  the  monk,  who  plays  the  r6le  of 
the  lover.  The  other  two  usual  characters  in  the  typical  fabliaux,  the 
wife  and  the  stupid  husband,  are  the  prominent  members  of  tais  house- 
hold. It  is  interesting  to  note  that  it  is  the  husband  who  extends  the 
invitation  to  the  Monk  who  later  violates  the  laws  of  hospitality.  In 
this  step  of  the  narrative  the  English  poet  digresses  somewhat  from 
the  usual  design  of  the  French  fabliau.  For  in  it  the  lover's 
presence  in  the  home  frequently  was  kept  hidden  from  the  husband.  By 
a clever  scheme  of  the  wife,  the  lover  escaped  unseen  as  in  this  one: 

The  husband  came  home  unexpectedly.  The  wife  turned  the  borrowed  tub 
over  her  lover.  Soon  the  neighbor  called  for  his  tub.  When  the  hus- 
band picked  up  the  overturned  tub,  the  wife  cried,  "Fire".'  In  the 
great  commotion  that  followed,  the  lover  escaped  unnoticed. 

Once  more  the  husband's  generosity  opens  the  door  for  the  Monk's 
comic  intrigue  which  was  plotted  in  the  Merchant's  garden  before  dinner. 
The  Monk  seizes  upon  the  nost's  parting  words  of  friendship.  He  is 
bold  enough  to  ask  for  the  loan  of  one  hundred  francs.  Willingly  the 
host  accommodates  him. 

It  is  the  Merchant's  trip  to  Bruges  which  offers  the  opportunity 
to  the  Monk  for  the  achievement  of  his  first  comic  intrigue  and  the 
preliminary  plans  for  his  second.  On  the  Sunday  of  the  Merchant's 
absence  the  Monk  goes  to  Saint  Denis  with  his  hundred  francs  which  he 
promised  the  wife.  When  the  husband  returns,  he  tells  his  wife  that 


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-76- 


the  merchandise  was  so  dear  at  the  fair  in  FIa.iidLers  that  he  must  borrow 
money  to  secure  a loan  to  pay  -or  his  goods.  This  necessitated  the  trip 
to  Paris  to  see  the  rich  Lombards.  While  in  tills  city  he  incidentally 
tells  Dan  John  of  his  dear  merchandise.  At  once  the  Monk  replies 
that  if  he  were  rich,  he  woul.i  lend  his  friend  the  twenty  thousand 
"sheelds".  Indeed,  the  Monk's  generosity  is  not  less  than  his  prompt- 
ness in  business  transactions.  He  tells  the  Merchant  that  he  has  al- 
ready returned  the  hundred  francs  to  his  wife.  And  thus  the  Merchant 
serves  again  to  help  the  Monk  carry  out  the  intrigue. 

The  Merchant  returns  to  reprove  his  wife  for  neglecting  to  tell 
him  that  the  money  had  been  left  with  ner.  But  her  frank  confession  of 
raving  receiver  and  spent  the  money,  and  her  promise  to  repay  the  sum, 
quite  overwhelm  him.  He  forgives  her  entirely.  Thus  the  Merchant  is 
the  victim  of  the  comic  intrigue  which  his  stupidity  has  made  possible. 
An-  thus  his  stupidity  unifies  the  whole  fabliau. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  tale  the  end  is  foreseen.  The  situations 
dove-tall  into  each  other  in  a perfect  manner.  The  poet  makes  excellent 
transitions  in  the  shifting  of  the  scenes.  All  three  of  the  places, 

Saint  Denis,  Paris,  ana  Bruges  are  essential  to  the  carrying  out  of 
the  plot.  The  interval  of  time  which  elapses  while  the  Merchant  is  at 
his  office  i3  devoted  to  the  laying  of  the  first  intrigue.  When  lie 
leaves  his  home  at  &.int  Denis  to  attend  the  fair  at  Bruges,  the  time 
is  used  for  the  completion  of  the  first  intrigue  which  was  devised  to 
satisfy  the  Monk's  oaser  love.  The  financial  difficulties  in  Bruges 
make  the  Merchant's  trip  to  Paris  of  great  importance.  This  circum- 
scribed space  besiaes  linking  the  parts  of  the  story  closely  together 
appealed  to  the  pilgrims.  They  had  been  visualizing  the  types  in  the 


-79- 


tale — the  Monk  and  the  Merchant — and  now  the  reference  to  the  well 
known  cities  made  the  characters  more  realistic.  Ho  doubt  the  similar 
religious  and  business  man  of  their  own  pilgrimage  had  visited  these 
three  places.  And  so  real  characters  moving  in  real  cities  heightened 
the  amusement  of  the  episode.  The  pilgrims  appreciated  the  fact  that 
they  were  not  for  a moment  side  tracked  from  the  action  of  the  plot  to 
listen  to  a needless  digression. 

Professor  Hart  has  pointed  out  that  the  typical  fabliau  not  only 
has  a beginning,  a middle,  and  an  ena,  but  that  the  wnole  is  well 
proportioned.^  Chaucer's  "Shipman’s  Tale"  shows  these  cnaracteris- 
tics.  There  is  excellent  proportion  in  its  three  divisions.  The  real 
and  vivid  setting  comprises  the  first  hundred  and  six  lines.  Within 
this  "beginning"  the  pilgrims  are  introduced  to  the  wealthy  merchant, 
his  wife,  and  his  guest  at  Saint  Denis.  The  "middle"  contains  the 
rapid  conversation  in  the  garden  and  the  house.  In  these  dialogues  the 
first  intrigue  takes  definite  shape.  This  is  folio-wed  by  the  second, 
longer  and  more  elaborate  one.  There  is  more  dialogue  and  more  de- 
tails of  action  in  it.  In  this  respect  Chaucer  conforms  to  the  method 
of  the  jongleurs,  the  composers  of  fabliaux,  who  never  so  exhausted 
their  powers  on  the  first  intrigue  that  they  were  compelled  to  treat 
the  second  one  hastily.  As  it  should  be  in  this  type,  the  "end"  is 
brief.  The  cleverness  of  the  wife  quickly  turns  the  laugh  upon  her 
husband. 


(l)  Hart,  W.M. , "The  Narrative  Art  of  the  Old  Drench  Fabliaux", 
Kittredge  Anniversary  Papers,  pp.  209-216. 


-30- 


The  Prioress's  Tala 

The  Shiprnn  scarcely  utters  his  last  word  in  his  story  of  Pan 
John;  when  the  Host  impressed  with  the  moral  exhorts  the  rest  of  the 
company  to  he  on  their  guard  against  such  tricks,  and  to  avoid  enter- 
taining in  their  homes  a monk.  But  immediately  his  rougher  nature 
gives  way  to  his  more  courteous  manner.  He  turns  to  the  Prioress  and 
says, 

"My  lady  Prioress,  hy  your  levs. 

So  that  I wiste  I 3holde  you  nat  greve, 

I wolde  demen  that  ye  tellen  sholde 
A tale  next,  if  so  were  that  ye  wolde. 

Now  wol  ye  vouche-sauf,  my  lady  dere?" 

In  perfect  accord  ’with  her  refined  character,  which  Chaucer  has 
emphasized  in  the  "Prologue",  she  sweetly  and  gently  replies,  "Gladly". 
There  i3  a daintiness  in  this  preciseness  that  arrests  the  attention 
of  the  pilgrims. 

Chaucer  now  turns  to  a Miracle  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  a favorite 
form  of  legend  in  the  middle  ages,  and  one  very  suitaoie  for  the 
Prioress.  The  hatin  collection  of  this  type  made  in  the  eleventh  and 
twelfth  centuries  was  soon  translated  into  French.  later  many  miracles 
were  collected  hy  Jean  le  Merchant;  sixty  were  written  hy  Everard  de 
Gateley;  and  a group  was  composed  "by  an  Anglo  Norman.  The  most  re- 
presentative group  of  r.hry  Miracles  in  England,  the  Vernon  miracles, 
collected  in  the  fourteenth  century  contains  one  which  i3  similar  to 
Chaucer's,  am  which  we  may  refer  to  later. 

To  understand  the  spirit  of  the  Prioress's  tale  we  must  recall 
the  early  antipathy  which  the  Christians  felt  for  the  Jews.  We  need 


. 


. 

. 

. 


. 


. 

■ 


. 


-81- 


not  go , however , into  a detailed  account  of  the  pages  of  European 
history  stained  with  the  senseless  persecution.  It  seems  possible  that 
the  Jews  having  been  persecuted  sought  revenge  by  the  murder  of  Chris- 
tian children.  The  middle  ages  widely  "believed  that  the  Jaws  during 
Passion  Week  decoyed  Christian  children  into  their  homes  to  either 
crucify  or  murder  them  outright.  The  blood  was  used  in  some  gruesome 
religious  ceremony. 

The  pilgrims  knowing  this  view  of  the  Jews  am  being  fond  of 
a Miracle  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  listen  intently  as  the  Prioress  tells 
this  story: 

”0  Lora,  our  Lord.,  thy  name  is  marvelous",  quoth  the  Prioress. 

"Of  thee  and  of  thy  white  lily,  will  I tell  my  tale. " To  the  virgin 
Mary  she  cried,  "Help  me  to  tell  it  in  thy  reverence.  My  skill  is 
weak  to  declare  thy  great  worthiness.  Therefore  guide  my  song". 

There  was  in  Asia  in  a great  city  among  Christian  folk,  a Jewery, 
sustained  by  a lord  of  that  land  for  the  sake  of  foul  usury  and  villain- 
ous lucre.  It  ms  hateful  to  Christ  and  to  his  company.  Men  might  go 
through  its  street,  which  was  free  and  open  at  either  end.  Down  at 
, its  farther  end  Christian  folk  had  a little  school  in  which  Christian 
children  learned  to  sing  and  to  read.  There  was  among  these  children 
a widow's  son,  a little  clerk,  seven  years  of  age,  who  went  day  by  day 
to  school.  He  was  taught  whenever  he  saw  the  image  of  Christ’s  mother 
to  kneel  down,  and  to  say  "Ave  Marie".  Always  he  remembered  this 
teaching  of  his  mother.  As  the  little  child  sat  in  school  learning  his 
primer,  he  heard  the  older  children  singing  "0  Alma  Hedemptoris".  Hear- 
er he  drew  until  he  had  learned  the  first  verse.  He  was  too  young  to 
know  the  meaning  of  the  la  tin  lines  and  so  one  day  he  had  his  comrade 


. 

► 


. 

. 

. 

. 


. 

■ 

. 

. 


-82- 


explain  them  to  him.  Then  he  said,  "I  with  diligence  will  learn  it  all. 
Hven  though  for  my  primer  I shall  he  punished,  and  shill  he  heaten  thrice 
in  an  hour,  I will  learn  it  in  order  to  honor  our  Lady."  On  nie  way 
home  from  day  to  day  his  companion  taught  him.  Finally  he  could  sing 
it  well  and  boldly  going  and  coming  from  school.  Through  the  Jewery  the 
little  child  walked  singing  merrily,  "0  Alma  Hedemptoris.  " 

Our  first  foe,  the  serpent,  Satnana3,  having  a wasp's  nest  in 
a Jew's  heart,  said,  "0  Hebrew  people,  alas,  is  t^is  to  you  an  honest 
thing,  that  such  a hoy  shall  walk  as  he  pleases  in  your  despite  and  sing 
of  such  matter  which  is  against  the  reverence  due  to  our  law?"  From 
that  moment  the  Jews  conspired  to  chase  this  innocent  out  of  the  worla. 
They  hired  a homicide,  who  had  a privy  place  in  mis  alley,  to  seize  the 
ooy  as  he  would  pass  hy  ana  hold  him  fast,  cut  his  throat,  and  cast 
him  into  the  pit.  But 

"Mordre  wol  out,  certein,  it  wol  not  faille. 

And  namely  ther  th'  ciicur  of  god  shal  sprede. 

The  blood  out  cryeth  on  your  cursed  dede". 

The  poor  widow  waited  all  night  for  ner  son  to  return  from 
school.  At  dawn  with  pale  face  and  troubled  mind  she  went  to  the 
school,  and  other  places  until  she  learned  that  he  was  last  seen  in  the 
Jewery.  With  mother's  pity  in  her  breast  she  in  a daze  searched  and 
prayed.  She  asked  of  the  Jews  to  tell  her  if  they  had  seen  her  child 
go  by.  They  said,  "Hay".  But  Jesus  made  her  think  that  her  son  was 
cast  into  a pit  beside  the  place  where  she  stood.  At  once  the  little 
boy  began  to  sing  "Alma  Hedemptoris ".  The  Christian  folks  going 
through  the  street  heard  the  song  and  hastily  sent  for  the  chief 
magistrate.  The  Jews  let  them  take  the  child  up  who  kept  singing  nis 


. 


-83- 


piteous  lamentation.  To  the  next  abbey  they  carried  him.  Hie  mother 
swooning  fell  by  the  bier.  With  torment  ana  a shameful  death.,  the  chief 
magistrate  caused  each  one  of  the  Jews  who  knew  of  the  murder  to  perish. 

Upon  the  bier  lay  the  innocent  before  the  altar  during  the  Mass. 
After  the  holy  water  had  been  sprinkled  upon  him,  the  child  sang  "0 
Alma  Redemptoris  mater".  The  abbot  asked  the  child  why  he  continued 
to  sing  with  his  throat  cut.  "My  throat  is  cut  to  the  neck-bone",  said 
the  little  boy,  and  naturally  I should  have  died,  but  Jesus  Christ 
wills  that  his  glory  be  remembered,  and  for  the  worship  of  his  dear 
mother,  I yet  sing,  "0  Alma"  loud  and  clear.  And  when  I should  have 
given  up  my  life,  she  came  to  me  ana  bade  me  sing  this  anthem  in  my 
death,  as  you  have  heard.  She  laid  a grain  under  my  tongue.  Therefore, 

I sing  in  honor  of  that  blessful  lady  until  this  stone  is  taken  from 
my  mouth.  After  that  she  will  take  me". 

The  abbot  removed  the  stone.  The  child  gave  up  the  ghost.  And 
do  m the  abbot's  cheeks  trickled  salt  tears. 

In  the  legend  of  Alphonsus  of  Lincoln,  a French  poem  contained 
in  the  collection  of  Miracles  of  the  blessed  Virgin  -ary  by  Gautier  de 
Coincy,  and  in  an  English  poem  of  152  lines  from  the  "Miracles  cf  Cure 
lady"  there  are  the  following  stories  which  offer  interesting  similarities 
to  Chaucer's  poem.  Each  tells  the  story  to  the  greater  glory  of  the 
Virgin  i&ry.  The  boy’s  singing  to  her  brings  on  the  murder  of  the  Jews. 

She  is  the  one  who  produces  the  miracle  which  betrays  the  murder.  In 
each  the  innocent's  mother  gees  to  seek  the  little  boy.  In  the  first 
and  the  last  of  these  three  versions  the  little  boy  sings  "Adraa 
Redemptoris  Mater"  and  is  thrown  into  a wardrobe.  The  second  agrees  With 
Chaucer's  tale  in  recording  that  the  anthem  is  learned  at  school.  On 


-84- 


the  whole  the  first  resembles  Chaucer's  tale  the  nearest  but  since  it 
ms  issued  after  Chaucer's,  it  seems  tnat  the  version  which  Chaucer 
used  is  not  extant. 

The  Prioress  relates  an  admirably  unified  story.  27c  wonder  the 
pilgrims  could  neither  command  their  thoughts  nor  trust  t/.eir  voices 
when  she  had  finished.  The  pathetic  story  throughout  had  touched  the 
hardest  heart.  Prom  the  first  episode  until  the  last  the  listeners 
and  the  readers  today  are  impressed  with  the  simplicity  and  innocence 
of  the  little  boy.  Even  the  story  teller  assumes  an  unaffected  meekness 
and  child-like  attitude  tc  the  Blessed  Virgin, 

"For  to  declare  thy  grate  wor thine see. 

That  I ne  may  the  weights  nat  sustene 
But  as  a child  of  twelf  monthe  old,  or  lesse," 
and  thereby  lands  an  atmosphere  of  reverence  and  simplicity  before  she 
tells  the  sweet  child's  episode.  Hie  underlying  tone  of  tenderness  is 
not  forced  but  very  natural  and  therefore  makes  us  feel  in  spite  of  the 
miracle  that  we  have  been  hearing  a chapter  of  a little  boy's  life.  He 
is  a poor  widow's  son  of  seven  years.  Obediently  he  kneels  down  when- 
ever he  sees  the  image  of  Christ's  mother  and  says,"Ave  Haria".  He  is 
too  young  to  know  the  meaning  of  the  Latin  lines  of  "0  Alma  Hedemptoris" 
but,  nevertheless,  he  is  attracted  by  the  rhythm  of  them.  After  he  is 
told  the  translation,  he  connects  it  with  his  previous  knowledge  of  the 
Virgin  Ma ry  and  likes  it  better  than  ever.  He  is  a bright  child  ana 
readily  masters  the  lines  taught  by  his  companion.  Pie  is  also  a brave 
little  boy  for  he  says  that  he  must  learn  them  to  honor  our  lady,  even 
though  he  knows  that  he  will  be  beaten  thrice  in  an  hour  for  it.  His 
sweet  young  voice  rings  clear  the  words  as  he  passes  through  the  Jewery. 


-85- 


By  a contrast  Chaucer  deepens  our  sympathy  for  the  innocent.  The 
serpent,,  Sathanas^  who  nas  a wasp's  nest  in  a Jew's  hearty  incites  his 
fellow  men  to  cruelty.  Moreover.,  the  Jews  hire  a homicide  to  cut  the 
little  boy's  throat.  After  this  the  mother  with  a loving  heart  and 
pale  cheeks  goes  forth  to  seek  her  lost  son.  When  she  enters  the  abbey, 
she  swoons  beside  his  bier.  The  abbot  too  is  touched  with  genuine 
pathos.  Down  his  cheeks  trickle  tears.  Thus  there  is  no  exaggeration 
but  a gentle  sweet  tenderness  intermingled  with  this  human  aspect. 

Furthermore,  there  is  a delicate  coherence  in  this  plot.  ITearly 
every  line  is  necessary  for  the  understanding  of  what  follows.  The 
silence  of  the  pilgrims  suggests  that  the  very  best  attention  ms  re- 
quired for  the  full  appreciation  of  the  "Prioress's  Tale".  In  the 
first  few  verses  the  description  of  the  lord  of  the  Jewery  ani  his 
district  hints  on  impending  danger  to  the  Christian  school  which  is 
at  one  end  of  the  street  running  through  the  Jewery.  In  tnis  Christian 
school  is  a widow's  son  who  learns  to  sing  part  of  "0  AXiiB.  Bedemptoris". 
having  learner  all  of  it  ne  gees  back  and  forth  to  school  through  tnis 
district  with  the  song  ever  upon  his  lips.  The  intolerant  Jews  im- 

mediately plot  to  put  him  out  of  the  world.  One  day  while  going 
merrily  through  their  quarters,  he  is  seized  by  a homicide  and  cast  in- 
to a pit.  The  widow  passes  the  first  night  in  anxiety.  In  the  morning 
she  begins  her  search  until  she  finds  him  in  a pit.  The  persecution  of 
the  Jews  is  only  incidentally  mentioned  for  the  sake  of  poetical  jus- 
tice. For  the  ending  of  the  Prioress's  plot  the  ^ass  and  the  little 
boy's  explanation  of  his  singing  after  death  are  the  most  logical 
incidents.  They  are  the  only  two  scenes  that  we  feel  are  left  to  com- 
pletely close  his  innocent  life. 


. 

. 


. 

' 

. 

* 

. 

. 

-36- 


Chaucer's  sense  of  proportion  is  excellent  in  the  "Prioress's 
Tale".  The  first  seventy  lines  have  introduced  us  clearly  and  sympathe- 
tically to  the  Jewery,  the  poor  widow,  and  the  little  boy  who  loves 
the  virgin  "ary.  To  the  innocent's  sweet,  simple,  trusting  nature  the 
poet  devotes  eight  full  stanzas  before  he  touches  the  tragic  murder. 
Especial  stress  is  laid  on  the  learning  of  the  song  which  is  to  be  the 
child's  destruction.  Even  a few  lines  are  taken  up  with  the  character 
of  the  older  fellow  who  teaches  the  little  child,  to  show  that  the 
former  lacks  the  divine  spark  of  the  latter.  In  the  next  two  stanzas 
the  conspiracy  and  the  murder  are  recorded.  But  twice  as  many  lines 
picture  the  mother’s  sorrow,  until  she  hears  her  son  singing  "Alma 
Bedemptoris" . From  this  point  on  to  the  close  the  story  reveals  the 
tender  love  of  the  Virgin  Mother  who  succors  the  child  in  his  death, 
for  thus  the  little  boy  explains  his  song, 

"This  antem  verraily  in  my  deyinge. 

As  ye  han  herd,  am,  whan  that  I had  songe. 

Me  thought e,  she  leyde  a greyn  up-on  my  tonge. 

Wherfor  I singe,  and  singe  I moot  certeyn 
In  honour  of  that  blisful  mayden  free. 

Til  fro  my  tonge  of- taken  is  the  greyn; 

And  afterward  thus  seyde  she  to  me, 

’Iffy  litel  child,  now  wol  I fecche  thee."' 

"The  Nun ' s Pr  ie  s t ' s Ta  le  " 

The  Knight's  courteous  objection  during  the  Monk's  dismal 
tragedies  is  seconded  by  this  abrupt  objection  from  the  Host:  "Sir 
Monk,  no  more  of  this.  Such  talking  is  not  worth  a butterfly.  If  it 


1 

. 

. 

. 


. 


-87- 


were  not  for  the  clinking  of  the  bells  on  your  horse’s  briale,  I would 
have  fallen  asleep  and  have  dropped  into  the  deep  spring  mud."  To  en- 
liven the  rest  of  the  pilgrims  who  have  been  bored  likewise  by  this 
last  weary  tale,  the  Host  singles  out  the  Nun's  Priest  to  tell  a story 
that  will  make  all  of  their  hearts  glad.  One  of  the  distinguished  pil- 
grims, the  lordly  Monk,  has  failed  to  amuse  the  motley  crowd,  and  so 
an  obscure  member  whom  the  poet  did  not  describe  in  the  "Prologue"  is 
assigned  this  special  duty. 

But  Chaucer  has  not  overlooked  him  but  has  reserved  for  him  the 
fable,  a type  popular  from  the  remotest  antiquity,  which  according  to 
la  Fontaine's  definition  is  capable  of  producing  the  very  effect  de- 
sired by  the  Host: 

"Pables  in  sooth  are  not  what  they  appear; 

Our  moralists  are  mice,  and  such  snail  deer. 

We  yawn  at  sermons,  but  we  gia.dly  turn 
To  moral  tales,  and  so  amused  we  learn." 

The  primitive  form  of  literature  arose  from  the  universal  impulse  of 
men  to  express  their  thoughts  in  concrete  images.  Again  referring  to 
la  Fontaine  we  find  that  the  fable  or  apologue  is  composed  of  a body  and 
a soul;  the  former  is  the  narrative  in  which  are  irrational  or  inanimate 
beings  feigned  to  act  and  speak  with  human  interest,  and  the  latter  is 
the  morality.  It  is  interesting  to  note,  however,  that  the  earliest 
beast-fable,  the  progenitor  of  the  Aesopian  fable,  was  minus  the  moral. 

In  the  Fast , the  long  recognized  land  of  the  myth  and  the  legend,  is 
the  natural  home  of  the  fable  with  Hindustan  as  the  birthplace  of  those 
extant.  Aesop,  it  seems,  lived  in  the  sixth  century  B.C.  though  probably 


1 

. 


. 


. 


. 


. 


, 


. • 


-83- 


his  fables  were  never  written  down.  Besides  adaptations  of  Aesop  there 
are  many  original  ones  composed  By  I.arie  de  France  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  The  expansion  of  her  "Lon  Coc  et  don  Werpil"  is  Chaucer's 
"N-un's  Priest's  Tale".  This  story  has  "been  traced  to  the  history  of 
Reynard  the  Fox.  Grimm  found  this  Beast-epic  dating  Back  to  the  tenth 
century.  The  first  example  is  the  Latin,  then  the  German,  "Re ine eke 
Fuchs",  and.  in  the  thirteenth  century  the  French,  "Roman  de  Renert".  The 
second  Miss  Peterson  concludes  is  the  closest  to  Chaucer's  fable.  This 
we  may  compare  later  in  our  discussion  of  the  plot  structure  of  Chaucer's 
poem  filled  with  such  fresh-hearted  ^.ye ty:  . 

There  was  a poor  widow,  somewhat  Bent  in  age  who  dwelt  in  a 
poor  cottage  standing  in  a dale  Beside  a grove.  This  widow  had  led  a 
simple  life  for  little  vj&s  her  cattle  and  her  rent  to  keep  herself  and 
her  two  daughters.  No  dainty  morsel  passed  through  her  throat  But 
only  milk.  Brown  Bread,  Bacon,  and  sometimes  an  egg  or  two.  In  her  yard 
enclosed  with  sticks  and  a dry  ditch  she  had  a cock  named  Chanticleer 
which  had  not  an  equal  for  crowing.  His  crowing  in  his  lodging  was 
more  certain  than  a clock  or  an  abbey  horologe.  Redder  than  the  fine 
coral  was  his  comb  embattling,  as  it  seemed,  a castle  wall.  This  gentle 
cock  had  in  his  government  seven  hens,  either  his  sisters  or  his  wives. 
The  fairest  hued  in  her  throat  was  Psrtelote,  courteous,  discreet, 
debonair,  and  sociable.  Of  all  the  rest  he  loved  her  cest  and  sang  in 
sweet  accord  with  her,  "My  Beloved  is  gone  away".  For  in  those  days 
Beasts  and  Birds  could  speak  and  sing.  It  happened  one  morning  while 
they  were  all  sitting  upon  the  perch  in  the  hall,  that  Chanticleer 
Began  to  groan  in  his  throat  as  a man  would  when  he  is  sorely  troubled 
in  his  dreams.  Hearing  him  Pertelote  was  aghast  and  said,  "Lear  heart. 


. 

, 


. 

* 

. 


-82“ 


what  ails  you  to  groan  in  this  manner?”  To  her  he  replied,  "Do  not 
take  it  in  sorrow.  I dreamed  that  while  I was  roaming  up  and  down  with- 
in our  yard>  I saw  a "beast  with  a color  between  yellow  and  red  which 
sprang  upon  me.  This  without  doubt  caused  me  to  groan." 

"Away.1"  quoth  Pertelot,  "fie  on  you,  coward.  No  wife  desires  a 
husband  afraid  of  every  weapon.  Have  you  no  man's  heart?  Dreams  are 
nothing  but  vanity.  Cate,  a wise  man,  said* Take  no  heed  of  dreams!  When 
we  fly  from  our  perch,  I shall  show  you  herbs  which  will  have  the 
property  to  purge  you". 

Chanticleer  returned  that  he  had  many  authorities  who  believed 
the  contrary  to  this  theory.  "Cicero  relates  the  story  of  two  friends, 
one  who  slept  in  an  ox's  stall  and  the  other  who  lodged  elsewhere.  The 
latter  dreamed  that  his  friend  was  murdered  in  the  stall  and  the  next 
morning  found  nis  dead  body  hid  in  a cart.  In  the  same  book  is  another 
tale  of  a tfondreus  dream.  One  of  two  friends  dreams  the  night  before 
they  are  to  sail  that  they  are  drowned  on  their  morning  voyage.  He 
prays  the  other  to  delay  the  trip  a few  days.  Hut  his  friend  only  laughs 
and  scorns  him  saying,  'No  dream  makes  my  heart  sc  aghast  that  I will 
delay  to  do  my  business.  Dreams  are  but  vanities.'  Yet  before  this 
latter  one  sails  half  his  course,  the  ship  is  rent  and  down  goes  the 
sailor  into  the  sea.  Therefore,  Percelote,  sc  dear,  by  these  old 
examples  may  you  learn  that  men  should  not  be  reckless  of  dreams.  Again 
in  the  life  of  St.  Kenelm,  I read  how  Kenelm  dreamed  before  his  murder, 
that  he  saw  in  a vision  his  own  murderer.  I too  shall  have  of  my 
vision  adversity.  As  for  your  herbs  I love  them  never  a bit.  Now  let 
us  speak  of  mirth  and  stop  ail  of  this". 

"I  have  great  bliss".  Chanticleer  said,  "when  I behold  you  so 


. 


, 

- 

.1 

, 


-90- 


fair.  Woman  is  man's  joy  and  bliss.  Moreover,  when  I fe^l  at  night 
your  soft  side,  I have  such  solace  that  I defy  dreams  and  visions". 

Down  he  flew  for  it  was  dawn,  and  all  his  hens  witn  a cluck  he  called 
to  enjoy  the  grain  which  he  had  found.  Royal  he  was  and  no  more  afraid. 
Thus  as  royal  as  a prince  in  his  hail  we  leave  Chanticleer  in  his 
pasture  with  his  ladies. 

A col-fox,  full  of  sly  iniquity  which  had  dwelt  in  the  grove 
three  years,  "broke  through  the  hedge  the  same  night  that  Chanticleer 
dreamed  this  dream,  ana  lay  in  the  "bed  of  herbs  in  the  yard  until  his 
time  to  murder  the  cock  would  come.  He  waited  just  as  homicides  who 
lie  in  ambush  to  murder  men. 

Chanticleer  had  been  warned  by  his  dream.  But  whether  God's 
worthy  foreknowledge  compelleth  one  necessarily  to  do  a thing,  or  man 
with  free  choice  does  that  same  thing  or  rejects  it,  though  God  fore- 
knows it  before  it  is  wrought;  are  matters  set  aside  now,  for  the  tale 
is  of  the  cock  wno  took  his  counsel  of  his  wife  with  sorrow  as  aid 
Adam. 

In  the  sand  bathing  in  the  sun  sang  Chanticleer,  Pertelote,  and 
all  her  sisters.  As  Chanticleer  cast  his  eye  upon  a butterfly  in  the 
r.erbs,  he  espied  this  fox  lying  low.  The  fox  crxea,  "Cock,  Cock."' 
as  if  he  were  frightened  and  ready  to  flee  from  an  enemy.  But  when  the 
cock  would  flee,  the  fox  said,  "Gentle  sir,  where  will  you  go.  I am 
your  friend.  I have  come  to  hear  your  merry  voice.  Your  father  with 
his  eyes  shut  sang  tetter  than  any  one.  Let  us  see  if  you  can  counter- 
feit your  father."  Ravished  with  flattery  and  not  suspecting  the 
treason.  Chanticleer  beat  iiis  wings,  shut  his  eyes,  ana  crowed  lustily. 
The  fox  rushed  up  seized  him  by  the  neck  and  bore  him  upon  his  back 


/ 


-21- 


in  to  the  wood. 

When  Pertelote  had  seen  the  sight  she  shrieked  louder  than 
Hasdrubale  's  wife.  Having  heard  the  hens , the  silly  widow  and  her  two 
daughters  ran  out  of  the  door.  The  cock  upon  the  fox’s  hack  they  saw, 
and  cried,  "Ha,  ha,  icx."'  as  they,  joined  by  their  neighbors,  chased 
the  thief.  Like  fiends  in  hell  they  all  yelled.  The  ducks  squawked 
as  if  they  were  being  killed  by  men.  For  fear,  the  geese  flew  over  the 
trees,  .find  out  of  the  hives  came  a swarm  of  bees. 

Upon  the  fox's  back  the  cock  lying  in  all  dread  spoke  to  the  fox 
saying,  "If  I were  you,  I would  say,  ’Turn  back  you  followers  for  in 
spite  of  all  you  can  do,  the  cock  shall  here  abide.  I will  eat  him 
in  faith. While  the  fox  repeated  these  words,  the  cock  broke 
swiftly  from  his  mouth  ana  flew  high  upon  a tree.  Seeing  that  he  had 
gone  the  fox  called  out,  "0  Chanticleer,  I seized  you  vvith  no  wicked 
intention.  Come  down  and  I shall  tell  you  what  I meant."  "Iky," 
cried  Chanticleer,  "not  more  than  once  will  you  beguile  me.  You  shall 
no  more  through  flattery  make  me  sing  and  wink  with  my  eyes.  For  he 
who  winks  when  he  should  see,  will  have  misfortune".  "Iky",  said  the 
fox,  "but  God  gives  him  ill  luck  who  is  so  indiscreet  as  to  pr^te  when 
he  should  hold  his  tongue.  " 

But  you  who  hold  this  tale  to  be  but  a "folye"  of  a fox,  or  a 
cock,  or  a hen  take  the  morality  thereof,  good  mien. 

The  plot  though  very  slight  is  artistically  unified.  Its  key- 
note is  pride.  Since  this  quality  serves  both  for  the  entanglement  and 
for  the  denouement,  nearly  all  the  stress  is  laid  upon  the  portrayal 
of  character.  Chaucer’s  sly  humorous  satire  in  the  description  of  the 
uxorious  Chanticleer  gives  a sparkle  to  tne  genex-al  tone  and  reminds  us 


. 


-92- 

constantly  that  tne  husband  i.3  a fowl.  Moreover,  his  satire  is  of  a 
rnock  heroic  style.  Within  the  hen  coop  are  domestic  situations. 

Pertelote  is  solicitous  of  her  husband's  welfare.  When  Chanticleer  is 
timid,  frightened  by  his  dream,  she  is  cool  just  like  lady  Macbeth, 

It  is  Chanticleer  who  thinks  dreams  are  a portent  of  evil;  and  Pertelote 
who  says  that  he  needs  medicine.  Chanticleer  like  Macbeth  is  imagina- 
tive; but  Pertelote  is  scientific.  For  her  authority  on  dreams  Pertelote 
can  cite  just  a school  book,  while  for  his  authorities  Chanticleer 
draws  from  extensive  and  deep  readings.  He  cannot  resist  rolling  the 
high  sounding  Iatin  words  under  his  tongue  even  if  he  is  compelled  to 
mistranslate  them  to  keep  his  wife’s  good  favor.  As  a royal  knight  he 
calls  his  lady  to  enjoy  the  grain  of  corn.  His  strutting  and  his 
crowing  remind  us  during  her  feast  that  the  knight  and  lady  are  fowls. 
Pertelote  ha a received  Chanticleer's  praise  of  her  beauty  and  her 
sympathy  and  has  not  once  suppressed  his  egotism.  Along  cones  the  fox 
and  takes  advantage  of  this  dominant  characteristic.  But  the  table  is 
turned,  when  Chanticleer  makes  use  of  his  knowledge  of  human  nature 
to  regain  his  freedom. 

In  the  coherence  of  this  poem  Chaucer  has  improved  on  his 
sources.  He  places  the  dream  of  Chanticleer  before  the  espying  of 
the  fox.  The  pleasure  of  anticipating  the  danger  aids  much  to  the 
narrative.  The  movement  is  retarded  in  "Romulus".  Pinte  sees  the  fox 
and  then  wakens  chanticleer  who  tells  of  his  dream.  Chaucer  introduces 
a butterfly  hovering  over  the  herbs  in  which  the  fox  lies  hidden.  This 
attracts  Chanticleer's  eye  as  he  looks  about  to  firm,  food  for  his 
’.rives,  Immediately  the  two  opposing  forces  come  face  to  face.  The 
trap  i3  laid,  the  chase  takes  place,  and  the  excitement  is  lively.  A- 


. 


-33- 


gain  the  cock  is  the  center  of  attraction  and  his  pursuers  offer  the 
means  for  hia  escape.  From  the  din  that  comes  to  his  ears  he  knows 
they  are  there.  Quickly  he  advises  the  fox  to  shout  his  victory.  And, 
at  that  very  moment,  he  flys  to  the  trees. 

The  humorous  setting  forms  the  greatest  portion  of  the  fa'ole  so 
that  tnere  will  be  ample  time  for  the  delineation  of  character  without 
which  the  entanglement  would  be  less  fascinating.  The  opposing  character 
enters  in  the  last  fourth  of  the  poem.  The  movement  from  that  point  is 
rapid.  No  delay  is  necessary  for  aescription  of  situations.  Everything 
has  been  accounted  for.  The  general  uproar  of  the  chase  holds  sway. 
Almost  at  the  very  close  is  the  climax.  Chanticleer  frees  himself  from 
the  fox's  jaws  and  shouts  back  his  triumph  from  the  branches. 

"Hie  Pardoner's  Tale" 

The  Host,  who  takes  upon  his  shoulders  the  burden  of  voicing  the 
general  sentiment  of  the  pilgrims,  no.v  remarks  at  the  close  of  the 
Physician's  tragic  account  of  Virginia  that  it  has  caused  his  heart  to 
be  so  sad  that  he  feels  the  need  of  a restorative  draught  of  new  and 
corny  ale,  or  a merry  tale.  Therefore,  he  calls  to  the  Pardoner, 

"Tel  us  som  mirths  or  japes  right  anon". 

"It  shall  be  done",  the  Pardoner  rejoins.  But,  hereupon,  the  pilgrims 
take  a hand  in  the  request.  The  Host  has  assumed  too  much  this  oime. 

In  truth,  he  has  reckoned  without  his  company.  "Nay.1  let  him  tell  us 
of  no  ribaldry  but  of  a moral  thing",  they  demand, 

Waiting  for  no  further  orders  from  the  Host  the  Pardoner  says 
that  he,  while  drinking  in  the  way-side  tavern,  now  reached,  will 
think  -upon  some  honest  thing.  Frankly  he  tells  the  pilgrims  how  he 


. 


. 


. 

* 

- 


. 


-94- 


preaches  in  his  own  pulpit.  In  a haughty  manner  he  addresses  his  own 
congregation.  His  theme  is  always  "Radix  mlorum  est  cupiditas".  First 
he  announces  whence  he  has  come;  shows  his  hulls  from  the  Pope,  and 
tells  his  tales  interspersed  with  a few  Datin  words  to  color  his  sermon 
and  to  stir  men  to  devotion.  Then  he  compels  offerings  to  his  false 
relics.  Of  avarice  and  such  curseiness  he  preaches.  But  his  intentions 
are  to  win  silver  from  his  people,  not  to  correct  their  sins.  He  him- 
se ..I  -s  guilty  01  avarice  and  he  preacnes  only  "because  he  is  covetous. 

He  always  used  many  exerapla  of  old  stories  "because  people  like  old  tales 
-Ssi.  .low  the  Pardoner,  a full  vicious  man,  having  "by  this  time  refresh- 
su  aimsexj.  with  a uraught  of  corny  ale,  tells  a moral  tale  which  he  is 


accustomed  to  deliver. 

As  we  shall  note  in  the  "Nun’s  Priest's  Tale"  the  moral  of  the 
sermon  is  there,  too,  emphasized  by  a story  illustrating  it.  Chaucer 
has  read  and  listened  to  nany  such  forms  of  sermons;  "but  we  have  no 
definite  source  for  this  one.  The  story, however,  in  the  "Pardoner's 
Tale"  is  of  Eastern  origin.  From  a very  early  date  the  story  "became 
popular.  Its  earliest  form  is  the  collection  of  Hindoo  tales  entitled 
"Vedaboha  Jataka".  ^ In  Parsiaa  , Arabic,  Ikshmiri,  and  Tibetan  are 
other  versions  of  it.  More  recent  versions  are  written  in  Italian, 
German,  French,  Portuguese,  and  let  in.  The  one  which  closest  resembles 
Chaucer's  is  the  version  in  the  "Cento  Novelle  Antiche"  which  probably 
antedates  another  similar  tale  found  in  Boccaccio's,  the  "Tenth  Tale  of 
the  Sixth  Day  of  the  Decameron".  Its  interesting  similarity  to  Chaucer's 


(l)  Root,  "The  Poetry  of  Chaucer",  p. 


224. 


. 


. 


. 


. 

. 


. 


, 


. 

. 

. 


. 


. 

. 


. 


. 


-95- 


poem  to  which  we  may  refer  later  will  help  U3  to  appreciate  the  skill 
of  the  English  poet  in  constructing  the  plot  of  the  "Pardoner's  Tale". 
'The  story  is  as  follows:- 

In  Flanders  was  a company  of  young  folk  who  practiced  folly. 

With  riotous  living,  dice  playing,  music,  ana  chancing  they  made  merry. 
The  world  is  corrupt  with  gluttony,  drinking,  gambling,  swearing  ana 
homicide.  These  riotous  three  of  vvhom  we  spoke  sat  drinking  in  a 
tavern  when  -hey  heard  the  tinkle  of  a bell,  which  was  being  carried 
before  a corpse.  One  of  the  three  called  to  a boy  and  asked  him  to 
find  out  who  was  dead.  The  knave  replied  that  the  body  was  one  of 
their  own  company  who  had  been  slain  by  Death.  Death,  who  doubtless 
dwelt  in  the  village,  had  slain  a thousand  within  the  last  year.  Then 
one  of  the  three  proposed  that  they  all  three  become  sworn  friends  and 
live  and  die  for  each  other  as  brothers  would;  and  go  forth  to  slay 
Death.  And.  so  they  went  forth  toward  the  village.  After  they  had  gone 
about  a half  mile  they  met  a poor  old  man  whom  they  asked  to  protect 
them.  The  old  man  had  been  tapping  the  ground  with  his  staff  and 
calling  for  mother  earth  to  receive  him;  but  Death  did  not  want  him. 

One  of  the  gamesters  said  to  him,  "You  speak  of  the  traitor  Death  wno 
has  slain  all  of  our  friends  in  tnis  country.  Tell  us  where  he  is". "Turn 
up  this  crooked  road  leading  into  the  grove  and  there  under  an  oak  he 
abides",  answered  the  stranger.  Under  the  tree  they  found  fine  florins 
of  gold — about  eight  bushels,  Down  they  sat  ana  sought  no  longer  for 
Death.  The  worst  spoke  first:  "Let  us  spend  the  money  as  lightly  as 
we  found  it.  The  one  whom  we  choose  by  lot  will  go  to  town  to  buy  us 
bread  and  wine."  To  the  youngest  fell  the  lot.  While  he  was  gone. 


one  of  the  two  who  stayed  to  guard  the  treasure  explained  a plan  to  the 


. 

. 

. 


-96- 


other.  "When  the  youngest  returns",  he  sail,  "you  arise  as  if  you  were 
going  to  play  with  him,  and  I shall  thrust  a dagger  into  his  side.  Then 
we  shall  divide  the  florins  between  us."  The  younger,  too,  thought  that  he 
would  like  the  treasure  for  himself.  To  the  apothecary  he  would  go  to  buy 
poison.  He  would  tell  that  he  wanted  it  to  destroy  vermin  that  troubled 
him  at  night.  Then  acting  upon  this  thought  he  bought  the  poison  and  bor- 
rowed three  large  bottles.  Into  two  he  poured  the  deadly  drug.  The  third 
he  kept  clean  for  his  drink.  When  he  had  filled  them  all  with  wine,  he 
returned  to  the  rioters.  As  the  two  had  planned,  they  slew  the  youngest. 
When  this  was  done,  they  drank  the  wine.  Both  died.  "0  cursed  sin,  full  of 
cursedness.' " the  Hardener  adds.  "Come  up  you  wives  and  make  your  offering. 

I have  your  names  on  the  roll.  Here  are  my  relics.  If  you  wish  to  have 
absolution,  you  may  now  come  to  kneel  down.  Host,  with  you  I shall  begin, 
for  you  are  most  involved  in  sin." 

The  Host  refuses  to  kiss  the  relics.  But,  however,  the  Knight  prevents 
a quarrel  by  advising  the  Host  to  kiss  the  Pardoner.  This  they  do.  Jind  all 
ride  on  their  happy  way. 

This  exemplum,  one  of  Chaucer’s  best  stories,  is  cleverly  devised. 

The  evil  of  covetousness  is  the  main  thread  of  the  sermon.  With  a delight- 
fully unified  story  the  theme  is  illuminated  so  vividly  ana  so  emphatically 
that  the  audience  think  that  they  have  been  realing  a leaf  out  of  their 
own  history.  For  to  them  the  ravages  of  the  pestilence  is  a personal 
experience.  The  four  (-)  in  Edward  Ill’s  reign  have  not  been  for- 
gotten. In  the  days  of  such  danger  nany  gave  themselves  up  to  religious 
exercises,  others  to  dissipation.  Those  who  were  spared  the  terrible 
plague  drifted  closer  together.  Jfcid  so  in  Flanders,  a town  renowned 
for  drinking,  the  three  who  are  reveling  in  the  tavern  naturally 


(l)  The  ones  in  1348-49,  1361-63;  1369;  1375-76. 


, 


-97- 


plct  to  avenge  Death  who  has  taken  their  associate.  Moreover.,  they 
plight  their  troth  to  live  and  die  each  for  the  other.  This  last 
incident  nas  a second  significance.  Like  the  friendship  of  I&lamon 
and  Arcite  it  is  a survival  in  literature  of  the  very  ancient  institur 
"cion  ci  the  iratres  jurati.  One  might  cite  further  the  friendship  of 
"Achilles  and  Patroclus",  and  "Nysus  and  Euryalus",  The  "Cento  Hovel ie 
Antiche " do e s not  contain  the  tavern  setting  which  Cnaucer  employs  to 
give  the  tone  to  the  whole  poem.  The  pilgrims  are  thus  enabled  to 
see  the  gloom  of  inevitable  death  which  overshadows  the  rioters  before 
they  are  introduced  to  the  old  man,  not  a hermit  as  in  trie  Italia: 
"Novella ",  The  resignation  of  old  age  increases  by  contrast  the  im- 
petuousness of  youth.  Death  will  not  receive  him;  Death  will  not  wait 
for  the  three  revelers  who  seek  to  slay  him.  When  the  three  are  told 
*eM  the  false  traitor  is,  they  run  tc  meet  him.  Again  Chaucer  cakes 
another  :-.is crimination  in  his  choice  of  detail. The  sturdiness  of  the 
Oak  instead  o_  the  ease  oi  the  "grandissima  grotto"  suggests  a rougher 
atmosphere  which  immediately  pervades  this  third  scene  of  his  story. 

And  instead  of  "molto  oro"  he  specifies  that  there  are  bushels  of 
-l  lor  ins  sc  t-at  tne  coins  can  oe  used  at  once  to  buy  the  poison  and  vine 
tc  end  the  episode.  Chaucer  even  characterizes  the  three  rioters  for 
>.-ie  sake  of  plot  development.  It  is  the  most  wicked  one  who  suggests 
z-'.q  trip  to  town  for  bread  and  drink.  In  order  to  maintain  the  respect 
- or  the  three  a little  longer  there  is  no  hint  that  the  plighted  troth 
is  on  the  verge  of  being  broken.  No  one  is  singled  out  to  go  on  the 
errand.  Chance  decides  that  the  youngest  should  go.  First  the 'two 
overcome  by  greed  break  the  vow  of  friendship.  Then  the  youngest  is 
seized  by  covetousness  beyond  his  strength  of  honor.  The  irony  of 


-98- 


fate  closes  the  tale.  The  sword,  is  turned  against  them  all.  Alas.,  the 
provisions  that  would  nave  lasted  for  days,  profits  none  of  them. 

The  "Pardoner’s  Tale"  is  artistic  in  its  coherence.  No  superfluous 
details  hinder  the  rapid  sweep  of  death.  In  the  prologue  there  is  a 
lack  of  seriousness  in  the  Pardoner's  acknowledgement  that  he  is 
avaricious.  Ke  is  personally  aware  how  this  sin  grips  one  in  its  vi3e. 
This  is  the  key  to  his  tale.  The  company  in  Flanders  introduced  at  the 
very  beginning  cf  his  stock  sermon  is  very  effective.  For  after  the  evils 
of  drinking,  gambling,  swearing,  homicide  have  been  mentioned,  the  Par- 
doner returns  to  his  story  by  recalling  to  his  audience's  minds  that 
there  are  three  revelers  of  whom  he  has  already  told  them.  The  limited 
number  of  three  in  the  tavern  now  provides  for  the  death  cf  the  thousand 
and  the  associate  which  took  place  while  the  three  in  their  drunkenness 
were  unconscious  of  their  environment.  Then  Drunkenness  (705), 

Blasphemy  (706-9),  and  Hazardry  (1.751)  journey  hand  in  hand  until  they 
reach  their  climax  in  Homicide  prompted  directly  by  Avarice.  The  story 
ends  so  swiftly  that  the  rapidity  of  death  is  impressive.  To  enforce 
his  argument  the  Pardoner  adds  a peroration  ^ when  he  addresses  his 
hypothetical  congregation.  And  at  last  he  ends  ^ as  he  begins; 

"Now,  goode  men,  god  forgave  you  your  trespas. 

And  ware  you  fro  the  sinne  of  avaryce.  " 

Chaucer  has  kept  his  audience  clearly  in  mind  in  determining  the 
artistic  proportions  of  the  sermon  an.,  tale.  The  abstract  terms  cf  sin 
in  the  didactic  digression  begin  to  become  a little  monotonous  and  so 
the  Pardoner  breaks  off  after  he  has  delivered  about  one  third  of  his 


(1)  Hie  Works  of  Chaucer  (1.895-99) 

(2)  (1,954-905) 


-QC- 

sermon  to  give  his  exemplum.  In  this  the  tavern  setting  is  briefly 
described.  The  realistic  conversation  between  the  old  man  and.  the 
revelers  leads  up  to  the  finding  of  the  treasure.  There  is  just  enough 
matter  to  explain  the  dispatching  of  the  youngest.  The  plotting  of  the 
two  others  is  not  so  elaborate  as  that  of  the  youngest,  because  hia 
scheme,  being  the  main  pivot  upon  which  the  denouement  turns,  should 
naturally  receive  the  greater  treatment.  At  the  close  of  the  story  the 
action  is  very  rapid.  Avarice  not  death  is  the  theme  and  so  death  must 
have  but  a brief  line  or  two.  Without  the  peroration  the  sermon  is 
unfinished,  hut  of  course  it  is  snort.  Hie  Pardoner  must  not  weary 
his  congregation  for  he  has  yet  to  invite  them  to  offer  their  silver. 


. 

. 


. 

. 


-100- 


Chapter  IV. 

Cone  Ills  ion 

The  development  of  Chaucer's  gening  in  narrative  art  is  very 
obvious  in  the  above  plots.  Yfe  have  "been  able  to  point  out  many  borrow- 
ings  from  French,  and  Italian  models  for  his  early  stories,  hut  we  have 
found  few  if  any  direct  originals  for  his  later  ones.  His  method  of 
treating  suggestions  is,  moreover,  much  freer  in  the  "Canterbury  Tales". 
Besides  he  enlivens  the  material  with  more  honor.  An-  best  of  all  his 
characters  are  less  conventional.  They  now  seem  much  nearer  to  life. 
Chaucer  like  Shakespeare  held  the  "mirror  up  to  nature"  ana  allowed  the 
very  age  in  which  he  lived.  As  a lever  of  all  huiian  nature  lie  omitted 
neither  great  nor  low;  neither  old  nor  young  in  his  narratives.  He  has 
written  of  knights  and  ladies,  and  cooks  and  plowmen;  of  an  old  nan 
longing  for  Mother  Earth  to  receive  him,  and  of  a devout  little  boy. 

The  charm  of  the  complications  or  causally  connected  series  of  events 
in  his  stories  has  depended  largely  on  his  true  interpretation  of  the 
motives  of  this  wide  range  of  characters.  For  instance  in  the  "Book  of 
the  Duchesse"  it  was  the  knight's  grief  that  caused  the  poet  to  assume 
the  innocent  rdle  so  that  he  could  comfort  the  bereaved  one.  Thus  it 
was  the  delineation  of  character  that  bound  the  parts  of  the  story  to- 
gether into  the  unity  of  passion  and  sympathy.  Knowing  his  characters 
so  perfectly  Chaucer  does  not  shock  us  with  incongruities  but  fascinates 
us  with  his  artistic  unity,  coherence,  and  proportion. 

In  Judging  his  coherence  we  must  not  lose  sight  of  the  literary 
demands  of  his  own  age.  There  were  many  conventions  that  had  to  be 
respected,  such  as  we  have  previously  mentioned.  The  people  were  ac- 
customed to  them  and  felt  that  the  narratives  were  dull  and  impoverished 


. 

' 


■ 


. 


-101- 


without  them.  If  we  attempt  to  real  these  poena  without  a knowledge 
of  knighthood,  the  system  of  courtly  love,  the  psychology  of  dreams, 
the  exempla  of  the  homilies,  the  fable,  the  fabliau,  the  lay,  and  the 
miracles  of  the  Virgin  so  popular  in  the  literature  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
we  may  he  deprived  of  the  significant  relation  of  some  of  the  best 
phrases,  scenes,  and  episodes  in  the  plots,  ue  are  then  inclined  to 
judge  such  passages  as  mere  digressions.  Critics  have  culled  out  some 
prominent  phrases  as  not  orderly  and  logical  in  their  sequence  which 
we  have  indicated  above  to  be  vital  to  the  unfolding  of  the  plot  because 
we  measured  the  tales  by  the  mediaeval  standards  in  literature. 

The  proportion  of  Chaucer's  narratives  has  been  a point  of  much 
dispute.  Critics  again  lose  sight  of  the  particular  nature  of  the  plot. 
For  example  in  the  "Ho us  of  Fame"  we  are  to  keep  in  mind  that  we  have 
an  account  of  a'  journey.  Hie  narrator,  therefore,  lias  the  liberty  to 
dwell  at  length  on  seme  stages  of  his  flight  to  the  House  of  Fame,  and 
to  pass  rapidly  over  others,  according  to  the  impression  that  the 
incidents  make  upon  him.  Particularly  noteworthy  is  the  proportion 
in  the  "Hun’s  Priest's  Tale".  The  entanglement  and  the  denouement 
occupy  but  a very  few  lines,  however,  the  poet  lias  a good  reason  for 
such  a distribution  of  material.  Artfully  he  presents  the  lesson  on 
pride  in  the  plot  by  the  elaborate  humorous  delineation  of  Chanticleer's 
domestic  character  which  precedes  it. 

After  such  a study  of  Chaucer's  plots  which  thus  picture  the  cause 
and  effect  of  human  action,  we  are  impressed  with  the  opinion  of  Profes- 
sor Eittreige  that  Chaucer  "found  nc  answer  to  the  puzzle  of  life  but 
in  truth  and  courage  and  beauty  ana  belief  in  God.  " 


(l)  Kittredge,  G.  L. , "Chaucer  and  liis  Poetry",  pp.^18. 


. 


. 

* 

. 


. 

. 


■ 


. . 


- 102- 


Bib  lioaradhy 

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